The War of the Face

I am mostly a mouth and eyes. Sometimes
in that order. Sometimes prudently not.
The one’s degree of openness is at my discretion.
It is an exercise in size. The others’ really not.
Sometimes, my mouth will think it sees something on its own
and go on a tear about it. Sometimes my eyes will try to talk.
It’s clear they want to be free agents, but are locked
into an ironclad contract. No way on earth to unsee
or unsay the damage these virtually conjoined ones have done
in a marriage where arguing all day, every day is the facial norm.
“Just because we see something, doesn’t mean you have
to say it,” my eyes chide my mouth. “And just because
I say something, doesn’t mean I need your little pupils
to back it up,” my mouth snaps back. So the entire face
suffers, in silence, the other senses like little children
cowering below the booming voices of those who run the house.

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