The smile, so fox-like
and yet it’s not worn by the hunter
but rather the hunted
Lips parted in a smile, corners upturned
the finger, at a slight insert, that says
Not what I want but I’ll make do
Mona has such a smile, yet
it is not the artist deserving of accolade
but rather the subject, who invokes such a pose
What’s a man to do?
There’s a thousand of me but only one of you