Dust

The newspapers are full of faces
assuring me of their monumental
ease, glinting in the warmth, jaws
and shoulders laminated, strong.

For once I'd like to see them
stunned, speechless, strung along,
just one pang of romance, or lust,
or a thought they knew was wrong
and loved, that brought them back
the sin of Genesis, the dust,
and left them shaking, jaws slack
now, shoulders shrugging as they sob
for the innocence they put on,
for the love they lost.