Two eyes stare,
an unflinching oval
mouth waits, wanting
to have something
stuffed down its throat.
Purpose unfulfilled.
A circle around the face,
a jack-o-lantern
without a candle.
As if to add insult
to injury, the shape
is repeated underneath.
With no way
to communicate
in this juxtaposition.
Whose faulty thinking
forced the notion that
there needs to be two?
For every Jack, a Jill.
Two mouths
trying to speak, unable.
Four eyes seeing beyond
what they observe.
Unable to share,
unable to move,
waiting to be shocked
into service.

© 1995 by Susan Mersereau

Susan Mersereau is the Vice President for Quality Aviation and Region Services at Weyerhaeuser. She lives in Seattle with her family and loves outdoor sports including backpacking with her llama, Hector. This is her first published poem.