This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order.

The Saving Grace

Oct 19 2008

A mountain of eccentric noses

and walleyed squints

and great winged ears,

piled high

then squeezed down tight,

crushing out

all that’s authentic

and experienced

and sad.

They do this with computers,

conflating faces

to render a perfect average.

Which surprised them all,

because who knew

average could be so beautiful?

That its relentless symmetry

could contain our deepest desire;

that the girl-next-door

had been a beauty queen all along?

In 50 years, we will all be composites,

sifted gently, folded-in, lightly stirred

with liquorice curls

and almond eyes

and toffee skin,

like mocha, or fine milk chocolate

glowing brown.

We will read old books

cracking their spines, blowing-off the dust,

and find ourselves looking-up

incomprehensible words,

like race

miscegenation.

The saving grace

even now

is that we all get to be beautiful

at least once in our lives.

Because in a lover’s tender gaze

we are already radiant;

that heroic nose, those adorable ears

mere charming flaws,

the lazy eye

she long ago stopped noticing.

Perfect

for some saucy mischief

with her warm wet tongue.