An Incubated Smirk Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

A dash of a beam
settled at the corner
of his shredded
lips expanding
to a pond whisking a fish

that slipped back
through a rippled film
of wallowing water,

until the fisherman
on his face lost
his fish to his mouth

cut down to size
and trimmed,
thinning into
a praying mantis.

(ii)

He let the insect crawl
to his temple
sliding back to his chin
sitting like an isosceles triangle,

but it melted into grease
down his cheekbones.
And bulged like stones.

And his cheeks
in marsh hatched
a slithering reptile,

but he won't let
the snake bite him.

Only dusk expanded
a cream sky across his lips
tightening up again

into a volcano's
sealed mouth
choked by rock

sinking behind a wall
and rising mountain of a door.

(iii)

Unbolt the door
to a sealed mouth,
as the little stars
from gleaming half-teeth

behind the stiff panels
of his pout
dimmed into a patchy cloud

in free fall down
to his dented chin.

Bang out the sapphire
taking cover
behind the door.

At last, I found a cackling hen
of a joke, a missile
that landed on his forehead
pushing beams

which only the hen
incubated into the chick
of a half-smile

flipping out the chuckle
of a full smirked giggle -
not even a half-chortle exploding.