Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010
Held together with Hennes.
You peer through designer lenses.
Moulded to diamond encrusted frames,
Colourful rims circle smothering shadows,
Detract from caked-on concealer.
Jet Black mascara melts with the coke sweat.
Your eyes foregrounded, yet invisible, blind.
Mirrors, make-up and your mother’s 60’s Polaroid,
Poised on breast ready to pounce
On posing crowds and concrete smiles.
This is your sight for tonight.
You are tomorrow’s social network voyeur.
Blind to the miracle.
Across the seas donation boxes are arriving,
Crowds gather, scramble,
Stoop for vision.
A ferocious sun eats into necks, backs
Feasting daily on unprotected retinae,
Skin melting like mascara in the heat.
A small scribble on worn, shipped cardboard
There are no mirrors needed for this fitting.
In the bewilderment, a chance meeting,
Mrs Morales finds her miracle.
She screams a smile as she catches glimpse of her daughter
Who finally stays still and as one.
More beautiful than she could ever have imagined.
Teardrops steam up alien lenses.
The perfect Polaroid moment.
Blurred vision rests elsewhere,
Overseas, where they dance oBlivias
Behind three thousand pounds worth of blind vanity.