AN HONEST SMILE

​A couple is dancing

under the notes of street musicians.
 


Happiness.
 


I smile not to happiness
 


but I smile because of happiness,

seven or ten steps away.
 


And it is an honest smile

of dehydrated lips sipping water

of a tortured dog reaching an empty alley

of an insane man finally falling asleep.
 


I stand

seven or ten steps away.

The pen is scratching.

I do my job.
 


I do not allow my smile to be seen by them.

A poet’s call, after all,
is to record perfection
 


not destroy it.

***

TERRIFIED

Every ghost,
as it screams, 

only asks -in its language- 

the same bloody things:



“How can YOU see ME?

Why can YOU see ME?



Why are YOU HERE?

Why are YOU HERE?”

*For more poems by Alex Antonopoulos, please visit http://www.alexantonopoulos.com