smoking
I catch my father in the glass
staring back at me
with half lidded eyes
but the curls give it away
his hair is too long
cheeks too soft
I look left
and his gaze follows me
looking straight ahead
we engage in that classic contest of wills
staring each other down
we crack simultaneously blinking and looking away
Me, looking for my mother.
him, looking for I know not what.
I see her soft cheeks
and round eyes
as I lift my lids up
to greet my own
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