Plaster Cast

Masks are crucial to performance. They must have nary a crack,
painted smooth and bright. They must blend with the troupe of others,
indiscernible, so that the show may go on
and others may look on your face and see the mask
smiling placidly of papier-mâché
and remark to themselves how beautiful you are
and how they yearn to be so.
Over time the mask cuts off your air
until you become tired of the cramped sweating stiffness of it.
So you tear it off and grind it into powder like plaster.
Then the others grow angry,
not because you wore a mask
but because you admitted it,
not because you copied their art,
but because you were caught at it.
Then you wish you could reach for their eyes
and tear away at the holes,
prying off the mask and grinding it into powder
like plaster.

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