Back in the pale end of winter
Rosso looked at me as if he couldn’t quite remember
who I was, and sat down facing the mirror.
Is this the grave face that launched
the career of W. B. Yeats? at last
outfaced by Bolingbroke?
In robes barely covering the nakedness of her breasts
and her persistent thighs, a girl appears in the glass.
I see her twice.
‘Come on,’ I said, ‘I’ve got a chicken in the oven.’
Outside, we could still see her
legs in a car window.
~ Rowland Bagnall
Rowland Bagnall is a 22-year-old student of Literature from Oxford. His work has appeared previously in The Missing Slate, London Grip, Revolver, Cake, and Oxford, among others. He is currently studying towards an MPhil in American Literature at the University of Cambridge.