The darkest strains of pallid privilege
are rarely known by others for their ego
or evil now. The meeker, plainer strains,
no longer brandishing these two e-words,
seek to acquire a sleekness of their own.
But once upon a time, from their ranks grew
the best, who’d not be silenced but, when pressed,
spoke out again such ills as slavery.
“Blessèd” were they “in spirit.” But no more.
By light, the Dark Folk “get away with murder”
and do not look in mirrors. But by night,
they look—and to appear attractive they
use only artificial wicks which light
them only from the side. With fine makeup
and strip-lighting’s new Frosty-Focus bulbs,
the race of evil egos, the Dark Folk,
each and every evening, and with ease,
seem enviable, expressly because
They look
Pretty
Damned
Good.
James B. Nicola is the author of six collections of poetry, the latest being Fires of Heaven: Poems of Faith and Sense. His decades of working in the theater culminated in the nonfiction book Playing the Audience: The Practical Guide to Live Performance, which won a Choice award. Born right before Halloween, he is used to black birthday balloons (just for the “hell” of it, so to speak).