Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

Hotel. Birmingham. 18.8.17. The Treachery of Mirrors

Treachery of Mirrors

It’s stifling, even with

the window open.

The bloody workmen

have woken me

with drills and diggers

with alarms that sound

like they will break

into ‘Jingle Bells.’

Every few moments,

the threat of Christmas.


Half asleep in brown soupy

light I stare at a large picture

frame that shows a slender

body prone and elegant.

I study it for a moment

and marvel at the simplicity

of line before reaching

to wipe the sand

from my blear struck eyes.


The picture moves

and the mirror

reveals its treachery.


The mattress, too soft,

hides half of my body

in the depths of its

quicksand comfort,


conspiring with my longing

for a return to youth,

to show me the lithe

and elegant body I once had.

I allow myself a moment

of vanity then switch on

the light.


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