at my reflection in the mirror,
a cruel bargain comes in play:
the glass takes off another day
from my expected living span.
Its vanity's fair payment plan.
Each time I look I pay, alas.
I see already how the glass
has laced its silver in my hair,
my youth was stolen unaware.
The real me fades away,
glance by glance, day by day,
until too late I'll turn to see
the mirror has stolen off with me.
John Thornberg, poetryfoundation.org, 2019
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