“Crooked grins,

sly hands,

and one dangerous voice . . .”



These were what he found

To be the simplest way

To hide the wretched ache.

He’d worked so hard to hide

The cracks in his glassy eyes,

And it worked marvelously.

No one seemed to look past

That roguish impression—

To look deeper . . .

Deeper into his persona

And past it!

No, they could not.

How could they,

If they were already so comfortable

In having some hapless fellow to blame?