SMASHED MIRRORS

I wonder where they go? Your looks have left you all haggard

and old and derelict like so many different coloured mirrors,

all shattered to jagged shards. Black mirror, silver, green, blue.

What wicked bits remain put back together in a kaleidoscope

of evil colour contrasting to your lost beauty.

Like your dreary voice so very ancient. When will you die?

Collage of smashed fragmented mirrors look nicer than you.

I’m sleeping in my glass shelter, send me some starlight

to keep me warm, across the gulf of space by DHL.