#48 - Sandgun

I mistook it for my hairdryer
and blasted away most indentifying marks
before I realised.

I checked in the mirror
and liked what I saw:
my head scrying orb smooth

like a big, whorl-less thumb,
a looking-glass brow;
men would gaze upon me
and, in my depths, face themselves.

I put on a boater,
to make it a bit less confrontational.