Commutation of Sentence

The fiberglass is a Photoshop blur
Where the black woman’s black coat carves
A mirror swath through it
Softening the face of the woman four seats away,
Across the aisle, staring out the window
Her wrinkles disappear so that she looks
Closer to 27 than 37
Just a few points takes the age off

“Yeh beg, yeh steal, yeh borrow”
A croon in the wintry silence of my
Sony MDR-NC7 Noise-Canceling Headphones
Cheap things
He’s singing about the train
About our collective morning routine

I stare at the youngish woman in the
Coat-arm mirror
Her face framed by two women
One row up: one with a weathered face
And thick round glasses and heavy,
European jowls, a female Studs Terkel
Her hat pulled down on silver perm-curls
One escapes, supermans down
Across her forehead
The pattern on the hat like Greek architecture
Aqueducts in perpetual but erroneous
Motion, M. C. Escher in Athens

The other with unadorned
Head and plain-face
healthful shoes, reading John Connolly
Another row up, a tall man in Hood-clothes,
Asleep: he doesn’t notice when a woman
Can’t get her suitcase past his backpack

I turn back to the glass
A new arm bends the shape of the mirror
But still blurs everything out enough
To believe we’re younger, we’re better

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