Last Parade
Last Parade
So let’s pretend
we are camouflaged action superheroes.
Their ample annual coverage
an advertisement for chiseled cheekbones
stony stares
same-styled bristled buzzcuts
body squared to the front
stomachs in, chest out.
Plastic legs shoulder width apart.
A public display of their self assured, sizable manhood
Customer satisfaction guaranteed.
So we pretend
Her blanketed night sky is concealing
expressions of non expression.
Tensingly untensed facial muscles.
She aids us in our quest for tactical defense.
Her winking eyes
Tempting an exodic retrograde into anonymity.
We wriggle our minefield treading toes within paraded boots,
An absurd act of defiance.
So they pretend.
That by casting us into eurhythmics performing,
ethics preaching wax figurines.
We would be lesser beings.
At least in their eyes.
So that they can pat each other on their backs,
relishing in comforted knowledge.
Shutting our windows into their souls in peaceful deception,
enjoying the recession into guiltless sleep.
So I pretend.
Our arms are so close
that the hairs on the back of our forearms
are speaking to each other on electrostatic terms.
Dead cells questioning each other,
perplexed
as to why their living counterparts refuse to register
each other’s presence?
But what do dead cells know?
They are but a shadow of what they use to be,
clinging on to living pores,
desperately dreading the eminent prospect of shedding,
and existing as an individual.
A whole part
instead of part of a whole.
