Your Face

I think I will paint over
your face, or cut it out,
or scribble it over
with crayon or pen.

I think I will scratch it off
with the edge of a penny
even though the only prize
beneath is not seeing it

I think I will burn it,
with a match or a cigarette,
out of every picture
I have with you in it
until the albums are full of me
posing with little ovals of ash
by the fountain at
Cole Park,
at the restaurant
where I asked you
your name.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
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