They wouldn’t be able to see them
anyway. Not in the mirror, or in
photographs,
the ones every warm-blooded
human can flip
through and reminisce,
like god, remember
that tacky dress you wore
to prom?
how it looked
as though you
were made
of wallpaper,
and you danced
liked everyone
wanted a piece
of you,
like everyone
had stopped
to count
your spots.