The Mark of Time

My clothes have gone around, my leather jacket has come back,

it still fits I'm so vain, dozens of shop windows can attest

my body remains in fright.

If I stay out of the light, my face also seems familiar,

I'm essentially the same, then, and whenever a  distant

friend of friend similarly goes round, they visit me through

slimy screens and no filter can smudge them as 

anything but carrying warnings to my past.