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 If you've a comment on this poem, share it with Levi Wagenmaker.