At A Glance

What does she see when she 
looks in a mirror, that desiccated 
old woman for whom 'spry' long 
since abandoned the conceit of 
description? She totters beside 
her doddering husband whose 
tousled white mane attests to 
good hair genes while her dense 
black cap of hair could crown 
the head of a vigorous teen. What 
fond illusion does she subscribe
to, flirting with her past self in 
that dark head of hair, recognition 
studiously avoiding the creased 
and ashen complexion, the stooped 
shoulders, the weary mien. But 
then the faded eyes see what they 
imagine, pleased in the vision, certain 
that this is the image conveyed to an 
admiring audience of observers.