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by Hugh Moore

My own reflection in the mirror’s glass
suddenly takes hold of my attention.
What on earth has happened to my ass?
And that bald spot! Why did no one mention
that I’m looking like an old orangutan!
It can’t be Homo sapiens I see
and no romantic’s conjure of a man.
I close my eyes and hope it isn’t me,
and yet, upon reflection, there I am.
When did all this happen? Where was I?
Has objectivity been on the lam
while all this time my youth was dancing by?
Cerebral cortex — O seducing crutch!
That sees too little and believes too much.

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Hugh Moore is a writer, composer, and artist residing in central Illinois. His website is at http://www.hughmoorezone.com/. His poetry has been published in The Lyric, Mobius, LightWriters’ Journal, and other venues. He also hosts a variety radio show, Flyoverzone, where many poets have been guests: Ted Kooser, Richard Wakefield, A.E. Stallings, John Mella, Marc Smith.

Pat Jones
Published 29 March 2011