Saturday, December 22, 2012

On the face of it

Why are you stuck
on the face? She asks.
She says. I say,
I like faces. No,
she says. I mean the face
you draw. That turnip
of a face, she says.
I say, Maybe
it's my face.
It's my face I draw,
I say. I ask. She says,
yes, I'd guessed that.
Post a Comment