Mirror Face

By place9011, August 30, 2019

Bars across the mirror

partially obscured his face

he looks older, weary, wary

battered but not defeated

expecting another blow

gives no hint recognition

of a brute in an enemy uniform

a hard man paused for provocation.

So I have a history of wars and slavery;

he’s no innocent.

He glances over my shoulder

I turn to see what he sees

an empty hallway

dimly lit, silent but for a muted click

of a door closing.

I turn back and he’s gone

in a place no longer his

a scorched desert ranges

swallowing its horizons.

Well into its distance

two emaciated vultures

struggle across it on iron feet

one turns to look, face too distant

for clarity, raises a wing

in acknowledgment no doubt ironic.

What briefly seems like my right wing goes up alike.

Surely not mine; a mirage,

a hint of impossible awareness.