Lip Liner to Hillary


I’m worried sick you’ll ditch me. Rumor is
Sarah Palin’s lips always look plump
because her liner’s tattooed, counterfeit.
She wakes up with zigzag hair, bad breath, a grump,
and fuchsia-outlined lips ready for prom.
I hear her trick saved time at campaign stops;
unlike your fifteen-minute drill—lip balm,
lip primer, me, lipstick, gloss, cotton swabs
to even my line—she was done in five
and flashing a calm smile beside McCain.
But hear my case for keeping me alive—
you shower and my dye slinks down the drain
along with peach powder, mascara wax;
bare-faced, you know what’s you and what’s a mask.