Bottle Beers

I once thought I was a portly man
who didn’t have a proper face,
like a blur in a wind machine,
like a smudge on a Victorian child’s chalkboard.

My eyes became my nose,
my nose became my philtrum,
my philtrum became my mouth,
my mouth was set in place and it spoke:

I once wished to be as beautiful
as my daughter. As graceful
as the waitress in my local café. As stern
as my girlfriend and as loving
as my wife.

My heart became my home,
my home became my local bar,
my local bar became my downfall,
my downfall was set in place and it spoke:

I once thought I was a portly man
who didn’t have a proper face.
I caught a glance in the mirror
and the smudge was myself.