Mirrors

What do you call those white glazed tiles?
shiny, resplendent in the bath-room,
befriended by the showers of the oval-shaped bath tub,
reflected and refracted by the Belgium white mirrors,
as candid as outspoken as innocent children:
The bordering wooden frame nailed to the walls
forcibly yet protect the mirrors.
The mirrors sympathize like a generous lord:
You give a congenial smile,
they are equally reciprocal,
your friendly warm laughter
doubled up by the pearly teeth,
doubled before you, definitely not dubious,
You’re spotted white garment
conspicuous before you guilty,
grins at your carelessness,
your dyed hair, yet reminds the fact,
age has indeed withered you,
you are conscious of your image.
You hold your four year old baby,
the chiseled creamy set of teeth
embodies perfection and purity
as pure as the raining droplets,
the splash of water drops in the mirror,
the nasty feel of belligerent scoop
of cockroaches, nibbling insects and pests.
A blurred visibility, why this intrusion?
We are the exclusion with our carelessness.