reflection

Woman with a Mirror 
Oil on Canvas, Frederick Carl Frieseke

She is so different from me.

She’s shallow and illiterate

Splits infinitives…

She hates and says so

With sloppy gusto.

She holds on tight

And snuffs out light.

Complains and voices,

unhappy choices.

Her weak hands she incessantly wrings-

 Without much thought of changing things.

That woman in the looking glass

I hate the perfect form she casts…

She is so different –

From me.