Ten years ago I wanted to pierce my nose
but I joined a firm instead.
My partners thought it wild,
clashing with the cobalt blue seriousness
of our office walls and wisdom.
So I waited til I left the firm to pierce my nose.
My daughters had theirs pierced by then.
Yet I caved to pressure in the last minute:
it will jeopardize your reputation, and
the outcome of your case
may be prejudiced, prejudged, predetermined
by another’s preconceived notions
about piercings and morals and drugs,
noise like that, which I know is just bull shit.
But I chickened out, and now my nose
has grown long with age, and the piercing
would not look right wedged between wrinkled
doubt and oily regrets oozing from gaping pores.
I’ve made a mess of this decision.
Has it been ten years since I wanted to pierce my nose?
In the gaze of the other 