Long Service (Poetry)

Wrinkles hang like medals
pendulous with years spent
at war with time and rarely winning —
only small victories to boost the image
before the next conflict.

These are old wounds —
visible and invisible —
the scars of living vivid in the mind
and staining skin —
what once would heal and fade
stays with her now.

The years spill out
their mulberry and brown —
spreading — joining ’til the skin
is uniformly worn
heart closely buttoned in
still beating and perversely proud
of every proof — each furrow fought —
the sagging droop of chin

that marks her out a veteran —
an old campaigner
reaching for the rouge
the bullet lipstick case
to blood her lips defiant
of the looking glass and fate

while the enemy is watching
she powder-puffs her face
squares her shoulders
then off into the fray.