Broad-shouldered and brave,
is how I see myself in my mind,
but I am just bad-postured in a philosopher's shirt.
She flowed out of Charles Dana Gibson's
illustration pen of the 1890s,
confident in unswept hair,
haughty one minute,
mischievous the next.
My friend from Otavalo, Ecuador
encourages me to shave,
saying to surprise the world,
while my daughter has never known me clean-shaven.
I sip my soda,
cheers their pint beers,
in the invisible mirror
I will be the brave Friday poet
in the vein (and dreams) of Joyce.
And with a hint of wildness,
I assist the aforementioned gal
with her decision between
gin and champagne.