Poem 4

I am a second-hand man,

Only my face is new; however, the verity of this statement is still in question,

Strange men who say they know my father always come up to me and say, “You look just like the old man,”

So maybe my face is used too,

Or at least bits of it are,

My eyes maybe my father’s, but the oval shaped head,

That’s mine,

I press my nose against the mirror just to check,

The lips look a bit worn for their age,

And my cheeks,

Well,

To be perfectly honest,

I got them out of the back of a van from a suspicious looking man downtown,