Mirror Mirage
I feel twelve most days, on rare occasions, I feel nineteen.
When folk music from the sixties comes on, I am seventeen.
I do not remember being any ages in between these ages and my real age.
I do not recognize or revere my actual age.
So when I look into the mirror and see faded eyes,
An old woman’s neck, splotches on my skin and a sty on my eye
I forget to smile, which is great, because then I do not see missing teeth.
And I can still be twelve, seventeen or nineteen.
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