A reflection of my father.

I am my father's son.
In a steel sugar bowl reflection, curved distortion, I glimpse a face.
Unkept hair, reaching length.
Eyes straight ahead looking at someone else, far away.
Mustache growing in brown stubble, not black;
soft not hard, the remnants of a boy.
Preliminary minutes, a child before man.

A photo of him in my mind.
Barefeet stand with bare chest before a blue bus.
Arms at sides.
The chiseled physique of genetics and obvious youth.
One apart from several.
Unkept hair.
A pair of short blue shorts.
Periwinkle eyes straight ahead, enchant a camera lens.
A moment captured in a shuttered snap.
Here adventure once moved in a time not my own,
once danced beyond the photo frame.
A scurry of feet, the rant of ecstatic voices.

I only view a frozen piece,
a jammed kaleidoscope caught mid-turn.
A picture of he, but a picture of me.