The Performance

The joke was brittle and a little bit mean,

but I let out a laugh that sounded almost real.

I wanted to fit into the middle of the scene,

to be the kind of person who doesn't have to feel.

Then I caught my reflection in the coffee shop pane,

a stranger with a mouth pulled wide and thin.

I looked like a man who was standing in the rain

while pretending that he liked the way it soaked his skin.

My neck is burning beneath this heavy scarf,

a prickly heat that climbs up to my ears.

It’s a specific kind of internal wharf,

where you watch yourself sink after all of these years.

I ordered a drink just to have something to hold,

so my hands wouldn't shake and give the game away.

It’s a heavy thing, trying to do what you’re told

when you hate every single word you have to say.