I have a sensitive-looking face, which I use to advantage.
At night I take my sensitive-looking face outside
where people are gathered at tables, posting pictures
and acting out their deaths. What good are they to me
who seem so real? My sensitive-looking face glows
like a sign for the living. I want them to see my sign,
my outside face, through which all this feeling is funneled.
Copyright © 2021 by Will Schutt. This poem originally appeared in The Hopkins Review, vol. 14, no. 4 (Fall 2021). Used with the permission of the author.