photogenic as a frog with anxiety issues.

You don't recognize how much
your face has changed
until you see it in the first
new photograph in months
since cutting off that last mask.
The chin is doubled, the bright green gum
perches between your teeth and tongue
as your chapped lips crumble with
your hair down to your eyes
and your eyes, Jesus
they speak volumes
that you're only used to seeing
in small print late at night.
Gone are the tricks your face makes
for the mirror, the good angles
the stretched neck
the eyebrows staying in place
no surprises in your nostrils.
While shaving tonight the mirror didn't stand a chance.
It was you alright, the same fool in those pictures.
The absence of stubble made no difference.
He'll see you for you.
Damn.

The foreman on the job I start tomorrow
with the new company has no idea who I am
nor I him; this is only the second contractor
I've worked for in my three years in the union.
So many conclusions drawn
so many reputations established
all by a man's performance under fire
and I'm clumsy and slow on the first draw.
It could be a new home or a short gig
depending on how well I strut my stuff
show my knowledge of the trade.
It's a lot of pressure.
It's a career.
It's how I'll pay for my stupid truck
and someday a house and a family.

The men on the job will see right through me
and know I hate every second of it
every second except the ones
where I feel like I have some semblance of a father again
some brothers and a crazy uncle
but that takes months, years to acquire.
I'm a fungus that grows.
I have bills to pay.
The two go together like bleach and ammonia.
A walking bunch of nerves
too weary for another failure.
The only one in the local who worries this much
about starting a new job with new coworkers.

Shakespeare's got too big a heart.
Shakespeare's got too big a head.
Shakespeare died on the day he was born.
Christ died on the cross.
Shakespeare never existed.
I'll get back to you on Christ.

This new man whose number will be entered
into my phone tomorrow did not have a panic attack
in his bathroom while showering tonight.
It's just another paycheck to him, one of many
more to come. I'm just a number, one of many
more to go. My hand shook but the razor held steady.
I didn't cut myself shaving, but walked away with less blood.