I have lots of faces
Faces nobody sees
I practice them in the mirror
In the bathroom mirror
In between washing my hands
I look up and flash a face
Eyes wide in surprise
Mouth open
Teeth visible all the way back
Incisors, molars, plastic bridge
With silver clips holding on
To the few middle molars
Still alive and biting
The darkness at the end
Where my tongue disappears
Down my throat

For less than a second
This face
Appears in the silver glass
Reflected back at me
My blue, as if astonished eyes
Take it all in
Before the face is gone
And my daily face
The face you are allowed to see
Returns

And I laugh
At the private joke
Maybe smile a little
With the public face
Then turn off the tap
And dry my hands

Then
Just before I turn off the light
And walk out the door
I flash another face
Slit eyes, heavy lids, puffed lips
Pulled down in a mean frown
Wrinkle under the nose
Disdain is made plain
Nostrils pinched thin
Cold, uncaring, disdainful
Arrogant son of a bitch
Light out
Close the door

Up the stairs
To where my public face
Is on display
Day and night
For wife, friends, family
Strangers who deliver packages
And you, should we ever meet

There are many more faces
From where those came
Often they appear in the bathroom
But sometimes in the living room too

There is a fairly large
Gold framed mirror
On the wall
Over the heater
Next to the door

When nobody is looking
But even sometimes
When my wife
Is in the room next door
A face appears in the glass
The window to the garden
Behind its reflection
The not-hibiscus tree
That bears dark red berries
In late summer
Eaten by blackbirds
And finches and blue tits
The face has a smile
A wide, friendly, dimple-cheek smile
That looks as if I’m ready
For a sales meeting
Where my customer
Wants to be persuaded
That I am a person
To be trusted
That the money will be well spent
On a worthy product
That delivers satisfaction
Profit up upon resale
Quality performance
And that I am
A reliable partner
Honest, open, friendly
Whatever it is
They are looking for
There it is
In that eyes open
(Blue, of course) face
Nose
Which doesn’t interfere
With the perfect smile
To set up an Othello

And then it vanishes
Before my sharp-eyed
Skeptical wife
Enters the living room

There used to be a mirror
In the hallway
Where the coat rack is now
It was a small, brass-framed mirror
Elaborate frame with a baroque design
It hung at my face height
And sometimes, not always
I’d look into it before leaving
Sometimes after returning
It was a perfect size for my face
Any face I wanted to fit into it
The shifty face
Almost a side view
Eyes left as far as they could go
Nose pointing at the door
My ear tuned to noises
The paranoia visible below the surface
Of a shut mouth, lips sealed
Nose ready for any disgusting smell
A portion of my mother’s portrait
On the opposite wall
Visible at the edge
Where my hair
On the back of my head
Finishes
And my neck skin begins

One step later
And I open the door

I’m out in the world
Where my public face
Lives