#7 - The Mail Order Bride Loses Her Looks

These days, the mirror is getting to be
Her dearest friend.

'Good morning mirror!' she trills
in her best RP salutation.

Her face looks increasingly like a suit
stuffed into hand luggage on a long haul -

one crease in particular looks thrillingly
like a scar from a knife fight.

She runs an index finger down its smooth vertigo,
then begins to brush her long,

dry, thinning hair, singing a lullaby
in a language she can no longer think in,

grey strands coming away with the bristles
in threes, tens, great wretched clumps.