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.