Mirror,
mirror, on the wall,
Who's
the fairest on my hall?
Is it
Tina tall & slim?
Or pretty
Wendy chased by Kim?
It might
be Sam in flowing skirts,
His
charming grin through which he flirts.
Even
Deb who tucks her chin,
Struts
a bit when glanced by Tim.
Then
there's me, clear skin, quick wit
and
grace despite the chair I sit.
But how
can I compare to them
When
all that's seen is how I perch?
My huge
black chair does hide my figure,
Whirring
wheels which glide yet lurch.
So I
wear mostly black and green
To not
stand out -- a foolish scheme --
and
view each suitor skeptically
For
fear of shun by them of me.
Beauty
isn't mine for granted,
Spindled
arms and spine that's slanted.
High
pitched voice and puffy feet,
Would
of my thighs a lover eat?
So pale
they are and muscles soft.
Gimps
like me are often scoffed
For
having angles, twists and bends
Which
sometimes lead to lonely ends.
Oh, beauty
are you mine to know?
Will
love come shy and always slow?
Or can
I shine my looking glass
with
confidence and flirting sass?
©
1994 Alana R. Theriault
published,
of course, with her permission
