‘Semi-naked’ reflection in the mirror.
The newly installed German cut mirror,
square and glossy goes up and down
like a wary watchman relentless,
and Rhadamantine judge, in the
often, power blocked Lift,
I see my face, a prominent mole
below the right cheek reflected ,
shining with my garnet earring,
a birth mark for the ration card
or election Id to be photographed,
The usual, habitual buzz,
the lift comes to a halt,
imagination stretches far beyond:
I am in the London tube,
reading Sylvia Plath,
the pages of Emily Dickenson flutter,
the intercity express passes through
Rugby, Arnold is reborn:
It is slowly lifting me up,
the lift is coming down,
Yet another reflection of the tribal
woman, in tattoos, breast feeding
her new born, a bamboo basket
on her head, the picture too
fritters in the fast rotating fan.
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