Blame it on My Youth

Blame it on My Youth

I have conversations with my mirror.
It doesn't question what I say
and gives me an affirmative nod
when I need one.
If the conversation takes a turn
I don't like, I can just walk away,
leaving no lasting ethereal images
that I have to live down--or up to depending
on the cast of the light.

I can be swayed in suede,
cozy in cashmere,
hide my flaws
and flaunt my features.
I can be Annie Oakley at high noon
or a fine and mellow Billie Holiday.
It ain't nobody's business
who or what I am in the
silver lake blues of my mirror.

Sometimes I use gentle seduction,
turn myself into a hot tamale baby
and make moon love to myself
in the reflection I see.
Now, I am not saying that makes me
a sophisticated lady,
not at all,
but that black backed glass will never tell.

We play the circle game,
me spinning across the borderline,
promising myself there will be
no next time,
and the mirror whispers back,
"you're a reverse peeping Tom..
and will always return., for you crave your own
scent."

Tonight, I was going to arouse myself
by dancing to old Molina's Tango,
but I threw away the rose.
So, I am going to head to Palm Springs,
jump into bed with a beach dude
swear to him I sleep walk and need
to position the mirror at the footpost
so I can see where I am going.

If I can't see myself, I will say,
"Hey sweetie, move
over a bit your on my hair,"
and if he asks if I am an exhibitionist....I will laugh
and say, "That'll be the day baby, that'll be the day."

And the circle is unbroken.

Bobbie Kilzer Gogain