Face bent in a spoon

I caught my eyes in curved silver,

a face bent oddly in that hollow.

Tired lids droop, cracked skin’s sliver

caught in metal’s skewed shallow.

Coffee steam blurs the warped gaze,

fractured lines where wrinkles fold.

Not quite me in those bent ways,

but something close, something old.

I trace the bend, the twisted smile,

search the depth of spoon’s cruel arc.

In that metal, no face can stay awhile,

just flickers caught in shadows stark.

Reflections curve, then slip away—

still the bent face will not obey.