I Paint My Face
There’s vanity, self-interest,
Trying to impress.
In how we dress…
We’ve all got different ways.
And so, these days
With politicians on my mind,
Men blinding us to what they choose
And how they use it,
I can find myself forgiving
And condemning.
Not much different than the rest
(trying thus to look my best)
But trying hard to shun self-interest
As the underlying motive
I can’t root for Putin’s score,
Trump’s insulting wrath,
The follow-up resulting baths
Of sighing, crying, dying, killing:
Millions being stilled
Out of self-interest.
Right down to the factory man
Selling guns and cannon…
It’s got to be the key (one of)
That leads to person, nature, failing,
Ultimately to its falling.
I’ll paint my face each morning
Sitting in my bed post-breakfast,
Sure it may be wrong one way or t’other,
Certain though it is not smothering
A culture or a nation,
Taking rations from the poor,
Making war!
Of these I’m sure.
But understanding that self-interest’s
Vanity’s of diverse kinds,
I’ll keep reminding self
Of vice’s stealth
And try to never hurt another,
Make myself a tethered serf to
Something higher than this selfish self.
I Paint My face 5.29.2022 Circling Round Vanities II; I Is You Is We; Arlene Nover Corwin
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Arlene Corwin Poetry 