Made In China (Poetry)

There is a plastic skull upon my shelf
no man would claim that once it was his own
this novelty divorced from any self
no former skin — no kinship close to bone

It sits as a reminder — fake but stern
a counterpoint to beauty — mocking cold
the eyeless sockets see the future burn
and keep those secrets sworn to be untold

It grins as though a joke’s lodged in those teeth
and yet there is no humour — not a spark
of human understanding nor of grief
whoever made the mould worked in the dark

A travesty — a cheap and worthless thing
purchased without pause for careful thought
I never guessed what doubts the years might bring
or quite how light deceives and can distort