A boy, he’d learned to love his face
All features perfect in their place.
“All soft and handsome,” Mother said,
As she fed him cake and bread.
A teen, when image was the thing:
Mother’s thrall still captured him.
She fed him love and Irish stew.
Mirror showed the dimmest view.
Cheeks were rounded, soft and puffy.
Body? Not exactly buffy.
He learned to pose both side and front.
The mirror’s vision? Very blunt.
He’d hold his breath and raise his chin
In vainest hope it made him thin.
The more he posed, the more he’d try,
The more the mirror had to lie.
Ego stroked and girth grew bigger.
Now a man, of fulsome figure.
Mother’s words sound in his head
Though mirror showed he should be dead.
Mirror tried to warn him kindly.
Ego made sure man live blindly.
Rounded man did not grow old.
Mirror packed and promptly sold.
published 26 April 2013