The Bathroom
Mirror


the bathroom mirror
looked me straight into the eyes
and spoke to me
(nothing magic)
about old mugs
lined unlike clouds
with more frowning than smiling
(nothing silver)
a knee-jerk reaction
turned on the hot water tap
so that the mirror misted over
(a waste of energy for
 taking off my glasses
 would have had much the same effect)

a voice inside my head whispered
mocking me

don't blame the mirror on the wall
don't blame the writing on the mirror on the wall

I put out a finger
to regress to school-boy retaliation
and traced out on the misty mirror's surface
the words

blame it on the Bossa Nova

and in spite of myself
began to hum a tune



Levi Wagenmaker

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