The Mirror Never Lies Or Does It Poem by Mark Heathcote

She reviews her arse in the mirror.
Has it still got a dimple?
Has it got, any bigger?

It's the same with her face.
Has it got a mole or a pimple?
Have I lost my youthful vigour?

Do I now have bushy nasal hair?
She reviews her ears in the mirror.
Are they getting bigger, so it's official?

She's getting older "I'm Old" now tears.
Stark-horror even my height is shorter.
My face is showing wrinkles.

And there are red blotch blood-vessels
Around her nose, her mouth and chest:
Her husband shouts don't worry, love.

Bless I'll still, love—yeah!
Don't worry, love.
I'll still love—yeah!
"Dear … you're simply the best."