You look at me and what do you see

You look at me all the time

With that supercilious grin

Scanning me from head to foot

You pass no comment

And yet you say it all with your eyes

 

They say that every picture tells a tale

But you never draw, paint or photograph

What you see

You never describe or make a photo fit

Instead you just stop, blink and stare

You looking at me

 

 You stand there like a statue without ever moving

You open your mouth

But nothing seems to come out

Not even a whisper or a shout

 

I would like to say you are good looking

But that would

Only lead to you becoming even more

Boastful, vain, aloof

And totally full of conceit 

 

When you were a child

You would mock, laugh, cry, pull faces

And stamp your feet

Occasionally getting in a lather and full of steam

As a teenager you just stood there squeezing spots

And looking for the cream

 

 But the worst of it is that

Gloating glare

That empty, old

Two dimensional stare

 

To think that once you

 Had vigour and you had vim

A purpose and an aim

Now you are just flat

At times deflated and almost transparent

In your sin

 

Your bulbous nose, heavy jowls

 And stubbly chin

Looking back at me

With a self satisfied, contempt and grin

 

And although you say nothing

Your eyes say

I told you so

And still remind me

Just in time

That I am not a reflection of you

But you are a reflection of me