Familiarity does not necessarily breed
contempt, although as he stands in front
of the mirror in the morning having
just cleaned his glasses, he may wince.

Most of the time, however, he realizes he
is growing comfortable with his skin
and even begin to forget what it once
looked like except when he runs into some-

one he hasn’t seen in several years and
the person exclaims, “Holy Cow! Is that
you? I heard the voice and realized it
was you but never in a million years

would I have known it was you just by
looking at you.” But only he has to
stand in front of the mirror each time
and give thanks, in part, for not running

into less than tactful acquaintances from
the past more often and for learning to
embrace the things that are receding
and those that are exceeding in spite

of the planks, the stretch bands, the
slow jogs in the woods and the less than
Tour de France speed on the fifteen mile
round trip bike ride into town on his

forty-year-old ten-speed which has been
painted a few times and which always gets
nods of approval and affirmations of joy
at bike ships with the accompanying words,

“They just don’t make them like that
anymore. I’d like to buy that bike
from you and hang it proudly in the
front window.” He just has to accept

that nobody is offering to hang him
in the front window for all to see
that they just don’t make them like
that anymore.