Polaroids

She rolled out of bed in her rinkled saturday night outfit, colours two-sizes too short, heart on her sleeves two sizes too long, sunday morning hair and light, swivelled torwards the door, gleamed at the hallway mirror and wispered - you've been playing Bowies with me.

He sleeps. The door is open.

New days will come marching in. But past-times, past-days, past-treasures will keep starring through the hallway mirrored room.