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

To the frog ponds
To send me your poem
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Joan Fleitas, Ed.D., R.N.
Associate Professor of Nursing, Lehman College, CUNY
Bronx, New York 10468

Last updated: November 14, 2004