Digital Collage

Mangled Beauty

He palpates
your thighs,
and finds
little lumps
of flesh
named after
food.
Cottage. Cheese.
The surgeon
will hack
the cottage
cheese
away for
an extra
thousand
dollars.
You hate
him for
this, this
man
who makes
so much
less for
so much
more: but

oh,

what can

you do?

You’re more
than a face;
you’re a
torso too.

Art and Poetry (c) Rob Goldstein 2013/2017

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