"MIRROR, MIRROR. . ?"

The mirror
watches him warily

mimicking his
every move

careful not to
miss the least gesture.

The mirror unhappy
it can copy

everything except
this man's mind.

Try as it might
what goes on inside his head

remains
inviolate.

The mirror drags him
into its self

drowning him in
his own reflection

keeping him forever
under glass

calmly awaiting
the next one who

stops: pauses -
checks to see if

his tie's straight
or his zip's zipped

or brush back
hair gone astray

straightening an eyebrow
into place with

a licked fingertip
a wink at his self

before the mirror
eats him.

The mirror
likes humans

likes to assimilate
them.

Only then
the mirror can

taste the tang
of thoughts

as only
humans can.

It enjoys their final fear
their silent fear

as the man
begins to realise

what is
happening to him

as slowly silently he
becomes glass.

**

As a kid I was astonished at JEAN COCTEAU's Orpheus where mirrors could be entered into and were a lane to the land of the dead...the images still zing around in my bloodstream...still astonishing me. One of my major influences in my poetry....this was a flickering poetry in motion.