Jack Frawley's untitled poem is a short, skeptical look at vanity and what we call beauty. The speaker opens with an image of vanity as a wave, sweeping through towns and people and crashing into our fixed ideas of what "Beauty" means. The word itself comes under suspicion. It is a "pedestalled word," lifted up and made to seem important only because we use it so often. Behind it, the speaker suggests, people hide, painting on masks each morning.
The tone is questioning and a little weary rather than angry. The speaker doesn't shout at vanity but quietly picks it apart. The ending shifts to a more personal, uncertain note: is it heavier to be an anchor in the shallows, held in place, or to be adrift at sea? Judging by the imagery, this could be a choice between staying safe but stuck, and being free but lost. The poem leaves that unanswered, so the mood is thoughtful and unsettled, with a hint of loneliness.