in the mirror we all have the same eyes and hair
brown and short, squirrel eyes people call them
although Erica’s still over her shoulders, curled upwards

look, mummy, the mirror is trying to steal us
she holds it like the golden cup of time
fairy dust lingering on our fingers

at the traffic lights, frustrated ,
he’s got the remote, say what? of everything
who? god, I hate him, he’s yukk

behind it all, another one
brown eyes and hair
you just can’t put your finger on