Reflection, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB/META and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Oh how exact you are
You show my stubble grey
My pot pig belly, my hernia
And that I do not shave

I hermit between your twin
I know I’m dwelling within
The master and it’s kin
The light you’re swallowing

The camera with no lens
Shows my spider veins
And my sagging jowls
And my crepe skin

You say you are truthful
But to a brutal degree
You do not censor yourself
For me or anybody

Ivory squares
With wedges pointing upstairs
Give you aid to face me with age
But I can flip them down

Sedentary sentry
Always lonely mostly
Except for that of vanity
But of me you need not worry

The prune is shriveled
Unvarnished you’ve revealed
Purple blotches have not healed
That thinners don’t congeal

It you sit there and dare
Say you do not judge
You’re just the umpire
Calling sags and strikes

Oh you are no friend
You look deep inside my eyes
You follow me until I’m out of your sight
I turn off the bathroom light

And for you, that’s goodnight.
(end)

This poem is an ode and a response to Plath’s mirror. “Ivory squares” are referring to the light switch plates and switches when I look in the mirror and see them behind me. or next to me on the wall, depending on which bathroom I am in.

I hate getting old so no, I do not like looking in the mirror. I have never liked my looks growing up but getting old and out of shape doesn’t really help that. But I am being a bit sarcastic here too. I know there is nothing I can do and the rational side of me knows getting old is part of life so in the end, I do accept it.

The one good thing about getting old is that you don’t have those bullshit raging hormones and horrible mood swings of going from love to lust to despair to rejection. When you get to be my age, you get to say f—– it. And that is a good place to be. No I do not like losing the shape deal, but nothing you can do about getting old.