Aging gracelessly

Young men walk like ducks any more
(she thinks), sprawling from side to side,
feet splayed wide, taking space that should,
by rights, be mine; she hears herself,
shrill in her own mind’s ear.

A softer woman would see (she thinks)
in the automatic motion of his jaw
a baby, dreaming of his mother’s breast;
it is her own reflection, slapped against glass,
that catches her heart into a sneer.

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