Mirror Reveal

The chair was cold, the cape too tight,

the mirror showed a tired sight.

She parted it, with practiced ease,

and then the words, that wouldn't please.

'A little thin up top,' she said,

and patted softly on my head.

Her fingers, light, professional, cold,

told a story, getting old.

I watched the scalp, a pale expanse,

exposed beneath her casual glance.

It wasn't news, not really new,

but hearing it, made something true.

And in that glass, the fading gleam,

was just a whisper of a dream.