Pout
Something has happened to my lips.
Before the Change, I had a nice smile, and I liked to use it –
charming, cheeky, sometimes a little sly.
I look over old photos, and see myself,
looking out at me,
and there is my smile.
My old smile.
Benign, friendly, open.
Guileless.
Now, without my willing,
like Dr. Strangelove’s sexy cousin,
the flesh in my face
contorts to strange new shapes,
lips leering out
like two red pepper slices,
eyebrows raised, mouth corner creeping up,
until, without a doubt, a fabulous pout beams out,
nuclear power in a look,
a danger to the world.
I like it.
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