The Bathroom

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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