Arthur's Thinking Face

You've never seen a squint as deep,
the forehead split into divides;
the shadowed troughs against the peaks.

The accidental penswipe eyes
retreat to fleshy hermitages,
hiding, Gollum-like, their prize.

The lips reach out like villages
sucked trickle-dry, they find no font
and hunt for sweeter patronages.

You've surely never seen the glint
of Arthur's nose, which leaps, roof-bound,
and freezes, like a Matrix stunt

while teeth chew data round and round
till pulped. The sparks
from either ear dive to the ground.

Stand back, I say. He barks
sometimes, when deep in thought,
like a tough mutt starved of walks

Then finally, the logic knot
is undone. Arthur falls,
as does his face. He folds it,

neatly tucks the swells
beneath his jaw once more.
A cappuccino, Art? He smiles.