Sonnet CCCVIII

The human race is ugliest of all and strange and odd:
our skins are limited to solid hues of neutral tones,
the shades of dark or light. Our ugly features cause us woe –
those eyes as small as sand, enlarged by crude mascara rods.

Oh look upon the birds with splendid wings, who fly to see their God –
how multicoloured are their feathers – gold and red as loam,
ignited by the sun. Oh look upon the fish below,
with scales of iridescent green and blue on every cod -

We long for spotted fur and shiny skin and lovely tails,
and everyday we looks at mirrors – not with vanity –
but with desire, wanting more than looking plain and ugly.

And yet we stare at magazines as if we’re something else –
but glossy pages can’t conceal – they only show our folly.
What good does fashion do but captivate our stupid need?