THE MAKE-UP MAN

by John Tustin

Every evening

the make-up man

opens her dead eyes,

touches up her dead face,

makes her appear almost alive

lying there beside me in the dark.

Her hands

as cold as her ocean of ice,

her eyes like coffin lids,

her kisses dry and motionless

but still I hold her hand,

still I look into her eyes,

still I place my lips on her lips

that remain so still.

The make-up man,

he lies to me with his hands

when he performs his nightly miracle

with ghostly paint,

opaque fabric,

the perfumes of intrigue

and disguise

and I let him

tell me lies

as I lie there

beside where she lies

and I tell her all the things

she wouldn’t let me say

when she was pretending to live

on her own, with me,

without the assistance

of the make-up man.

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. His first poetry collection from Cajun Mutt Press is now available at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C6W2YZDP. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.