here i stand
in front of a paned mirror
pained
a clock on the wall in front of me
because of the clock on the wall in behind me
i remember watching my father shave
wishing the years away until it was me
i remember mother cutting my hair
wishing the minutes away so i could go with friends
and i think on life
how i watched the second hand
hop one babystep at a time
with long pauses between
mocking my impatience
and all the while
the hour hand flew
imperceptible for its steady speed
and now i sit
unshocked by the white on my head
and below the clock
my son stares at the razor in my hand
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