Botox lullaby

Tis the day after Christmas
and all through this place
not a feature is stirring.
I’ve botoxed my face.

I’ve Stepford perfected
my vacuous stare.
I’m grimacing blandly
my inner despair.

My wrinkles are smuggled
all suave in my head.
They carved out a living
but now they’re quite dead.

Come anger, come jealousy,
plunder, conniption.
Come playfulness, happiness,
wonder, conviction.

Come shed your suggestion
that Botox is rape.
Oh ravaged emotions
dream not of escape!

Your passion is pointless,
your impotence funny.
My flesh has suppressed you
by medicine’s cunning.

I silence your sirens
with Stonehenge’s call.
Pass away.  Pass away.
Pass away. All.

Photo montage Susan Weber