Song Of A Flawless Face (Poetry)

I am the page three pin-up
provocatively posed,
body like an open book,
brain cells mostly closed.

I’m like the Mona Lisa —
part innocence, part guile,
subjected to x-million stares
interpreting my smile.

I am the shampoo ad girl,
I toss my famous mane
ten times nightly on the box
but few recall my name.

My face on countless hoardings,
a glossy mag campaign —
Lichfield took the photographs
so tastefuly urbane.

I’ve grown into that image —
a face inside a frame —
the mirror’s cold reflection
no longer looks the same.

I’m lips for selling lipstick,
skin for selling cream,
eyelids for the colours
of fashion’s changing dream.

I’m flesh for light to play on —
cheekbones, brow and chin,
the object of attention,
the focus of a whim.

The icon of an era,
the idol of my race,
all imperfections hidden
behind a flawless face.