This morning what I see in the asshole mirror: Eyes, old and darker underneath. I step into the shower begin to wash them, imagine the hot water removing the dark around them, making me younger, and when I step out, step in front of the mirror again, brush my hair, and younger, look upon my reflection, I know that I am happy, and then I begin dressing, solids to contain me, as pinstripes reveal places for me to exit. Plaids are okay, the spaces between the lines small enough to delay me, though eventually, I’d get out without a solid by noon.