by Angela Prew

Stepping out of the shower’s steam
I watch you,
razor in one hand, hairdryer in the other,
clearing the mirror;
your shadowy face, zigzagged with lines,
comes into view.

We bathed together long ago,
no need for razors then; two children,
fair head and dark head together,
splashing each other, laughing, laughing.
Our lives stretched straight ahead, no corners,
but potholes appeared, swallowed our youth,
and hairpin bends distorted the road.

Now that white-haired boy
is the white-haired man in the steamy mirror
and the end of that road is in sight.


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