Veiled

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VEILED


To look at around and know 

that every square inch is embered 

with a simmer you can’t see 

because the ash of everyday 

is so thick in your eyes


is akin to squinting down at coach 

as he flashes the signs, which you know

are aflame with meaning 

and of the utmost importance,

the game on the line, 


but for one reason or other 

hold for you no messages, 

and there’s no one

but yourself to blame

for your cold, blank stare.


The worst thing you can do here

is pretend. Best call time, make your way 

down the line, and repent, 

confessing your thick-headedness

as you chat with him,

his hand on your shoulder.


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