Narcissism
comes
at the
wrong time in life,
comes
when your young body
is easy
to love,
your
stomach muscles virtuous,
when
water beads up
not
down into crannies,
when
the “turn of your ankle”
doesn’t
mean a limp.
But
it would be better stored
for
the day your aging body
desperately
needs someone
to stroke
its folds, roll fingers
around
its plenitudes,
protuberances,
to look
in the mirror
and
say,
“You’re lookin’ good, baby.”
©2020 Muriel Thumm
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