Vain
Poem
Apr 18, 2023
Vain
Where every poem’s a pity party
strive to be the knife
spiting the face of the posed.
Carve a question mark
into the frame of the door,
and rub a splinter into your eye,
just for the sensation
of irritable bright stinging.
Even the salty spray of the sea
becomes an annoyance
after so many waves,
leaving pages damp,
like your cheeks
after viewing the video
of some beach goers
stumbling across
a stranded orca whale,
and their efforts to save it.
