The Meeting

The Meeting

By Rebecca Mackenzie

You held the audience captive
for an hour until heads slipped off of hands
And eyes grew sticky
from staring too hard at the gleam
on your bald pate
Dancing back and forth
As you bloviate beneath
Fluorescent lights suspended
from stained Styrofoam paneling

Nobody believing
your baldness is
a deliberate decision

After consulting the mirror,
I know now when I suck in my top lip,
Trying to affect neutrality
My mouth forms a hangdog grimace
A basset hound waiting for the screen door
To open

I’m not fooling
anyone either