At a Show
In theatric format
these faces form a phalanx
like a Hogarth print,
and row on row
of doctors, judges, barristers,
their smiles, frowns, their grimaces,
are a world of clowns,
while we who sit, and see, are seen;
what’s hidden behind their eyes unknown:
In the analysis of this audience
Are my facial features, too, obscene?
Is this a price that jades our age;
merely one minor, and
mostly forgettable part
of what is played?
I set my attention on the stage.
Do I dare to look behind?