Man of Glass
I am the man of glass, a living optic,
my eyes are marbles, reflective skin
contains droplets, like a dump-weight
imprisoning a waterfall.
I am the man of glass, though you deny me,
should my wife place hands on my shoulders
they'll shatter, widowing her:
light streams through spleen and kidneys.
Man of glass, daughter clapping
as his mouth's prism
throws rainbows.
Of glass friends refuse to speak
shunning shards that chip, daily
preparing skimming stones, slingshots,
and catapults for my own good.
Glass makes crowds gasp,
see through stomach to the chair-back
at my back. I fill with water.
They come to shatter me.
Page(s) 15
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