The Narcissistic young are the worst offenders by far,
A tilt of the head like their adored favourite Star.
The Stance now exact by the Mirror at home,
That ‘Oscar Night’ poise that is perfectly honed.
A look in the eyes, give the lips a good purse,
The ‘Glossy Mag’ look that is daily rehearsed.
A turn at the waist so the angles just right,
It’s a ritual of sorts that they daily recite,
Two-fingers of Peace and a fluff of the hair,
‘Exclamation Point’ view for the Media to share.
The Darkened Shades Off, or just keep them on,
A Testament of days when all youth has but gone.
But in my own April time, when youth flowed through the veins,
I’d be guilty as charged, for I would be the same.