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Writer's pictureStephanie Daich

THE POET -Poetry by guest author W Roger Carlisle

Updated: Feb 10, 2023





(Note: This poem was written before the Covid-19 pandemic, thus any

reference to masks refers to metaphorical masks, not physical masks)




I make special ice cream waffle cone hats. Eggs, milk, flour, vanilla, sugar, butter, cooked to a golden brown on my waffle iron, perfectly rolled into party hats. They're a huge hit with all my friends! I wear them to elite parties. The party is loud, a cacophony of starlings mated and paired. I stand alone, an old crow, a holy fool, urban anthropologist, ignored poet called to rescue lost souls. There wasn’t a job for me in the cavalry, so I became a poet. When their eyes pin me on the wall, I begin to search for a place to belong. I refuse to drink any of the champagne; a crazy rhythm takes hold of me as I dance in front of strangers. Most groups are talking about how the president is saving the country, new members for the country club, the best football team, or why we need fewer taxes. I save rubber bands to hold the hat to my head; everyone needs stretching. I keep dancing but find nowhere to land. I go to the bathroom to organize myself, focused straining is rejuvenating. I grade myself in shades of red. Everyone is wearing their best mask; I get the double stare. Their shaming glances tell me I have been identified as “THE MAN WITH NO MASK", that only my inner jester can see. The hostess frowns comes for me, lasso in hand; I will be corralled, hog-tied, and ejected. They have discovered I am an ordinary poet with no prodigious wit. I feel shame arrows pointing to the door. as I do a joyful victory dance in my head; my rebellion is complete, I do one final victory lap for fun. Returning home, I carefully empty the shame darts from my cone hat, and lock them in my shame box, proudly diminishing the amount of shame flying in the world.





____________________________________________________________________

The Poet

by W Roger Carlisle


BIO-

W Roger Carlisle is a 75-year-old, semi-retired physician who volunteers in a free medical clinic for impoverished patients. He is journeying home for a better understanding of self through poetry, hoping to find humility in the process.





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