How are you doing? “Great! Fine.”
“Good. Well . . .” I smile. So do you.
Teeth gleam in rows under curved lips.
Our eyebrows raise, our eyes widen.
Then I walk away, hands in my pockets;
I don’t want you to see them shaking.
You turn, sliding on your sunglasses,
Masking tears and red-streaked eyes.
Our glazed-over gazes, hard-set smiles
Create an opaque, ever-thinning veil.
We’re damming the torrents of tumult
Rushing beneath our stained-glass faces.