Vegas Tears. Poem by Alistair Plint

Behind the
over-powdered-face
is a yarn
proportionate in length
to the years
it took to create.

The smile paint
contrasts his
white face
hiding
wrinkles of life -
skin creases of sorrow
and blemishes of pain.

Over sized shoes pray
for laughter-
the antidote of
callous,
from tortured
roads
travelled.

The polka-dot
bow-tie
hides rope-scars,
that choke-his-neck.

Mime
is a necessity,
his voice would
give his truth away.

Never, have I seen him cry.

He wears his pain
deep in his
love-less
heart.
Tears flow
between
his skin
and
copyright
expression.

Was it joy or sorrow
that evolved
from blue-collar
to red-nose?

A need
to please,
perhaps?


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