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This appeared in The SHOp magazine
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Self-Portrait in Oils

Eamonmaguidhir_thumbnail_02by √Čamon Mag Uidhir03 Nov 2013

His face to the mirror oblique,
Nonchalantly nonevasive, declares:
Look at me, I am ready to be seen.

His eyes and ours don't fraternise,
Just stare at one another in disdain like
Stranger guests across a table.

One eye reserves itself for the mirror,
Brush, and canvas. The other waits,
Poised for the opportunity to deceive.

Though he tries to skirt the skullduggery
Beneath the skin, somewhere twixt
Dab and daub self-betrayal comes in.

We pry him open with our eyes. Keen as
Thrushes, we dash his secret guilts
And glories on the ground like garden snails.

Though he moves to escape us in false feathers,
He's snared, plucked, naked. In spite of himself,
He's apprehended. We trap all his best evasions.