Friday, 21 December 2012


Bald, Blank, Placid, I glance
Outside my glass-panelled window frame.
The glares of the external world
Scrutinize me for the clothes I wear.
I pose, weight balanced on one foot,
Left knee crooked, right hand on my hip,
And you 'that-side-of-the-window' people
Judge me for the clothes I wear,
And the 'this-side-of-the-window' people
Touch the expensive fibres I don,
Move my arms about, close in on me
Like a sole stage-light
Pinning an actor to an 'X' on the stage,
And at night, when people finally stop staring,
The keepers of shop
Wrap their uncaring hands about my waist
As though I am only my costume, my mask,
And I am shoved into a closet
And Locked.