WHAT THE MIRROR THINKS
The mirror sees them
arguing, but:
says...nothing.
It, observes them as so
much human furniture
that, most of the time
are nowhere
to be seen.
"Here 'n' gones' " the mirror
thinks of them.
The mirror reflects
a tiny breeze
unseen in itself that
dances with the white
net curtains
stained with sunlight.
The shadows creep
into corners
waiting for
evening.
The mirror shows
an aspidistra
that always dominates
the tiny room.
it even refers to
the tattered Penguin
Orwell
fallen to the floor
still...unread.
The carpet the mirror sees
is genuine
Persian, but:
it has seen better days
faded with sunlight.
There is a small hand mirror
on an antique wash basin
that still holds
the woman's scowl
for a few moments, but:
now. . .doesn't.
Mirror looks at
mirror.
But, again:
says....nothing.
There is - nothing
: to say.
The humans have gone
taken themselves out of
the picture
so to speak.
But, their anger
still hovers in the air.
The curtains
are still
...dancing.
"Hmmmmmm..?"
thinks the mirror
"...Hmmmmmm!"
