- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Man in the Mirror
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The Man in the mirror is watching me when I get home. He smiles a ghostly smile as I wash my hands, staring out from over the sink with orphan eyes.
I try to ignore him but he's singing me a song, not a terribly good one but catchy as all hell; I mistake it for high art, going to school the next day humming the chorus in math class.
The teacher glares at me and slaps my knuckles with her ruler while the other kids laugh. At lunch I sit alone in the library and eat peanut butter & lettuce sandwhiches.
And when I go to bed that night, the man in the mirror is watching while I undress, massaging the invisible divide with his strange silver glove that looks like moondust & rustles like an old man's creaky, secret laugh.
I don't want him to see but I'm compelled to advertise my wares, much to his subdued delight, speaking in a child's voice even though he's tall like a grown up, whipping up sweet nothings to my orbiting ear & promising the stars; I see through every word.
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