There’s a real life Gepetto
Who sculpts laughter onto grumpy puppet faces
To compensate for all the joy
The world has lost.
I watch him tear paper lies apart,
Recast them into papier-mâché moulds
Until they take the shape of masks
Familiar strangers slip on
Before carelessly shedding their skin
As they head out into the night.
In the glaring light of morning,
Chipped off facades litter the sidewalk:
Breathed to life
Still, Gepetto sits
At his work bench,
Hums tunes long forgotten