Sonnet without a name

Sat in a bar near Westminster, we chat

about foreign affairs. I catch a snatch
of meboarding school with that slight Woolwich
twang I got off of dad. Thats all I got.
In the mirror, the TV plays the news:
some war somewhere south and east of London.
I cant quite see because my head blocks off
my view. I dont know what Im saying now:
Im focused on my face, transfixed. Its just
like mums except my eyelids fold like veils.
I wonderdo others see them as Ive
seen me when I saw myself? They must
see something there, because they rarely fail
to note my incongruous oriental eyes.