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.