It seems to me a special kind of irony,
the increasing need for a magnifying mirror,
matches increasing reminders of age
All that extra facial hair, beautifully magnified.
All those extra lines, beautifully magnified.
All that uneven skin tone, beautifully magnified.
A need to trim eyebrows, pluck nose hair,
and that chin hair that grew an inch overnight.
All the while lamenting the thinning of the mane you used to have.
It seems to me a special kind of irony,
adverts ‘delaying the signs of ageing’ feature fresh dewy complexions,
as if the trip down the “mature skin” aisle wasn’t galling enough
It seems to me a special kind of irony,
Failing eyes need a regiment of helpers.
Swapping out those specs to read, to drive, to walk
Peering over the frames, adding 20 years.
Braving the dizzying wonders of varifocals – “lead with your nose” they’ll say,
so you give them a blurred side-eye
It seems to me a special kind of irony,
those laughter lines remain, long after the humour has gone
© wordsfromanotebook / suzie pearson