A Bad Day for Smoke and Mirrors
When Plato said,
Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder …
he forgot about mirrors.
And who said
Only good comes from self-revelation.
My frame is tipsy with gravity
and in need of scaffolding,
my knees crack when I stand,
a noise to wake the dead,
droop as if I’m half asleep,
my nose drips
though I’ve not caught a cold,
of grey hairs from my chin,
my eyes are failing, but my
hearing is good. I hear them say,
“Look at that poor old dear,
give up your seat for her, son.”
but it’s good, it seems, self-revelation,
knowing that I’m relevant, passionate,
and only confusing to some.