Without a Face

Does this face fit my hat or
Should I purchase another?
Can my credit last
Longer than me?
I fear my stock of disguises
Empty as the wind that flies up my back

Don’t like that spotted image in the mirror
Ancient version of a former tenant
So hopeful, so dreamy, so young

Was I ever that young?
Once I felt an electric line
Coiling to spring into space

Now the flat stinks of dogs and dentures
Scents of spilt wine on winter mornings
My libation to the gods

I laugh as I wait for them
But will they know this face?