Veneer

Sometimes our public relations, our hype, spin and our photoshopping becomes a kind of prison. The  veneer must never crack …or else….

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Shiny, brilliant

all beeswax and

elbow grease

the burnished

veneer glistens

 

Lacquered and

blow dried

each hair

perfect in place

tonsured

 

An image

a lithograph

kept in a frame

on the mantle piece

above the fire

 

Hair line cracks

propagate

running the amber

through

at the edge of a foil

 

A stiletto word

scratches the surface

the sun ages

laughter lines

and wrinkles

 

The varnish fades

corn flaking

and peeling

blisters

with bubbles

 

Scales shed

dandruff dreams

on the shoulders

celluloid

flares and sinters

 

The projector

now too hot

burns

flickering

Black and white

Black and white

 

Smoking platforms

of a brief encounter

and a steam whistle

forlorn

and haunting

 

They will always

have Paris

in the album

to thumb

in wheelchair days

 

Of blankets

and slippers

and Steradent

arms now too short

to see words clearly

 

Oh that Vermeer

painting

that masterpiece

of veneer

cost so very much

 

That hot water bottle

of reason

may yet

keep out

the cold

 

The gnarled, wise

Oak beneath

old, covered in

knots and scars

remembers sap

 

And springtime,

birds nesting

and all

the acorn gifts

it made for the squirrels

 

There is no fooling it

proud of its lines

and ages past

before the saw

took it

 

The veneer cannot

hold it

much longer

for the oak

seeks again the air

 

And if needs must,

bring on the bugs

the beetles and

the creepy-crawlies

come what may

 

In the shed outside

the Antique shop

the oak pines to be

free from dust

and cobwebs

 

It waits for

a moment of chance

to shuffle of

its skin

its scales

 

Too big now

for the lacquer

the varnish

the polish

and the spin

 

It can hear

His heart

beating

pressing

ready to burst

 

As dawn tiptoes

the window through

he thinks

perhaps today

will be the day

 

 

… perhaps today…