“You Ought to Know My Face by Now”
It’s an inch and a-half between the inside corners of my eyes,
and three from the tip of my nose to the bottom of my chin.
The diameter of my mouth is that of a jumbo garden hose,
rather a small kisser for a man who makes such noise.
My hairline receded two inches in the time it takes
to read Ulysses 100 times. Sunlight reflects
off my forehead like a potato wrapped in foil,
a beacon of hope in stormy weather, the poster child
for managed fragility. Images in your rearview mirror
may appear larger than they are.
I share genes with a chameleon: Hazel eyes when I wear
green shirts, brown when I tell you lies. If eyes are the windows
to the soul, I must be dying in boiling water.
My head fits neatly into a square-foot box, but don’t forget
to punch some breathing holes so I won’t suffocate.
My face is one-sixth of a cube. It announces itself
so that you will never forget. Roll it like a die,
see what number comes up. You should have every inch
of it memorized by now.
_____________
John Dorroh
Review by Jared Pearce
While I admit the imperative is less appealing to me, I do like the idea of the measurement and how the poem suggests we use different metrics for different things, the zanier the better.