Am I that man, looking back from the mirror? The one that follows me in every shop window. The one in the puddle looking up at me. I step into puddle, breaking the image. I didn’t feel it. Will it change anything? Walking along the pavement passing a row of cars He is there, in every window, watching me. Something is wrong, for a second the image shimmers as if trying to get away, to break free. I wonder, am I the reflection of the man in the mirror? ©AnitaDawes2023
Anita feels better today and just wrote todays poem. I love reflections!