It comes and goes, the smile:
Involuntary, a sign of grace
But forced, becomes a scowl,
Or the fixed grin of a crocodile,
The sneer on a camel's lips.
It's what's inside the head that counts
Yet hard to know, of all that's there, what
To show; and when to check a quiver
At the corner of the mouth, or the light
That builds up in the eyes,
Alive with pleasure or surprise.
But when the gaoler turns his back,
Breaks for lunch, or for a nap,
With no one guarding it,
A memory rises, like the sun in mist.
Yes, I guess I'm smiling now... and yet...
Qui custodiet ipsos custodes?
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4 comments:
I like this poem very much: finds the dynamic between inner and outer words+great ending.
the question that leaps to this mind:
Why guard the memories that prompt smiles??
During my brief, enforced and inglorious military career, there was often a drill sergeant or the like who would shout in the crudest manner possible: "Wipe that smile of your face!" Why was I smiling? I can't remember. Which doesn't really answer your question, which is a good one.
Camels do seem to view the world with disdain, don't they? Enjoyed that line for the image it brought to mind.
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