Fame
- James Sutherland-Smith
In the eyes of the world
you’re now a row of perfect, straight white
teeth.
Under the world’s fingertips bespoke
tailoring,
so much so it whispers, “Feel the width!”
To the nostrils of the world
Chanel Five or Joy, not Poison or Notorious.
over the world’s tongue purest vintage
bubbles.
and should the world play Chinese Whispers
a word goes round untainted by alteration,
“Glorious! Glorious! Glorious!”
The world does not close its eyes nor even
blinks
at your opposite, which is also you,
but stares distastefully at blackened stumps
in gums,
requires sackcloth and ashes, holds its nose
at stinks
neither your best friend nor wife dare
mention.
Mouths spit out your name with nausea
and the world’s press scribbles columns of
pure spite
after camping on your doorstep day and night.
Better to remain out of or, better still,
beyond the opinion of the world, your smile
genuine,
the garments of your soul proof against all
weathers.
So what the world might say is neither good
nor ill.
Simply be yourself and live from day to day
pure as spring water, fresh as new-mown hay.