A Part In The Part We Play Poem by James McLain

As she watches me, split the pages
with her exacted, the blade trades places,
with the paper.
She appreciates my frugal, conservatism.
The paper can appreciate the soft cheekbones
of my desperation, the highs and lows, thereof.
What is received, is not always the part that act
reacted, to see a play re done, in practise.
I like most, am only your puppet, afool a host for
ghosts, you toast at roasts.
I am not a Victorian, blue blood rich in iron, curried.
Favors never come easy, as such are never released
is aparts apart we plays, on stage