Mirror

Such is not the face I see
when I look away.
Instead of the smooth firm
cheeks of memory
I see this melting wax
that plummets from great height
and spatters the solemn landscape
like pigeon droppings
on a parking lot.
There was a time I wanted to look
old and distinguished.
If there is an Oracle
it gave me the half
that distinguishes me
from the young.
O spattered countenance:
you are the unfairest in this land
of broken fantasy
let me dream let me dream
and always look a little to the side.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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