I have nice fingernails

I stood for a while, 
        naked, 
     in front of the mirror.
My wife was out with friends
       so I could use hers;
             the full-length one
        she is often reflected in
     posing, choosing
just the right outfit for the occasion.
      I avoid mirrors these days;
the fifteen minutes looking at myself
       while the barber 
does his best with my tangle of hair
             is a torture.
So here I am
                     me, 
and some stranger staring back at me
discussing which part of me I dislike,
         subject
             for a poetry contest.
We turn off the light
                  and agree
there is not enough paper in the world.
   I look down as I type these words
             and in consolation
       say to myself
I have nice fingernails.

selffree verse

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