I used to fall in love
with every face that smiled back.
Well, I still do, but I used to, too,
to steal from a dead comedian.
The real joke is cleaning up the mess
each time I try to give my heart
to those smiling faces.
I watch it hit the floor again,
pick it up and clean it off.
The bruises are adding up,
and was there always a black line there?
No matter, there’ll always be another smiling face,
a face to be wary of.
Smiles cover everything.
Smiles lie.
Smiles are an invitation
to a mystery likely better left unsolved.
And next time she smiles back,
I hope I’ve learned my lesson,
but I’ll probably just have to stop
and pick up my poor heart again.
I’m just clumsy that way.