Julia Casterton
Keith’s Lip
I have fallen for the upper lip
of the caretaker at my work.
I spend my lunchtimes waiting
for him to smile or laugh
because of his upper lip
and it isn’t even the whole of his lip,
just the bow in the middle
which stiffens with embarrassment
as if he wants to hide a secret.
I don’t know why
I love this tiny cleft.
It could be that
when he laughs
he’s enraptured
among his keys, his cups and his room numbers
against his will
and in the lovely panic of his smile
there sounds the music of the pipes
that cannot help but come
from every object, every form -
Page(s) 62
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