Our parents.
They are what we wish not to be
but will become.
Some too soon gave up the ghost
while others gaze now squarely
into the face of death.

They are a full-length mirror
from which we avert our eyes
as though by not seeing we'll control what is
and what will be.

In a bid to smooth the wrinkles
before they even form,
we slather on the ointment of denial
and smugly turn our heads in scorn.