by Sy Roth
Ovid’s disambiguation rested on his face.
Their lies overwhelmed him
Behind his cheerful masque
Another face to hide behind.
He pranced for them,
A jester in motley
Obfuscating in their vacant,
His eyes wine-sparkled
Hither and yon in their sockets,
Swept the masses into a choking cloud
Away into their respective corners.
His eyes crinkled
Lids drooped downward
To dim their radiance,
Lost in a bitter gaze at them.
His lips rumbaed
A jumble of consonants
rumbled in assonance
over picket fence teeth.
Hidden beneath his lingua franca,
A muffled, chattering tongue
huffs and puffs in the water’s wake,
prevarications left afloat on his flaccid waves.
Caught in the glow of untruths,
Beneath klieg lights that strip them of their chicanery,
They metamorphose into politicians,
Replete with a passel of prideful lapel pins.
Flags flap noisily draped behind him.
Hordes flap in his breeze, and
Ignore his omissions.