Surly Individuals

The wind was blowing extra hard today,
So my reflection in the looking-glass
Showed hair gone crazy, an unruly mass
Of surly individuals at play,
Each mocking me in its own happy way,
And, nodding, I remarked, "We'll let it pass,
It looks the way it looks." This wasn't brass,
But who I am: cool, laissez-faire, and grey.

I peered, then stopped myself, getting no nearer,
And I turned around, and felt just fine.
Was this a miracle of rare design?
No, every day, however, it grows clearer:
As long as I'm not staring in the mirror
How I look affects your day, not mine.