The mirror tells things backwards, lies
out of shape and out of size:
Bends concave while we’re convex
Showing things we don’t reflect.
With a friend and a bottle, of course,
We pretend it won’t get worse,
But my mirror, once my oldest friend
Why did our friendship have to end?
There are certain reflections
that should be prismatic
Light diffused and indirections
should be automatic.
Today I approach a shiny surface
Straight backed and tightened butt
Knowing life is just a mirror
And a hammer to the gut.
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