Mirrors

 Mirrors 

They are the often expected, rarely mistaken, utterly correct signs of our times,

Mirrors,

Showing us both what we hate and love to see.

The glint off the rear view mirror, seen in reverse, which brings me a shallow sense of hope that is

Falsified by my lingering guilt over mindlessly miniscule matters,

Escaping like flying fish up past the surface of my rippled ego,

Running in fear from my subconscious which catches the dim subway,

 Sliding under issues and around fissures, sidestepping moral compasses and encompassing

Ethical malls,

Filled up to the air holes only with the disclaimers and promises we demand every day for ourselves…

From ourselves.

Promises of happiness like that only a third grader sitting in the hot back of his grandmother’s old car,

As she picks him up from school can understand,

Offering him another slice of summer orange.

The sheen off her glasses reflects back at me and offers a fully refundable feeling of security,

Backed by my unshaken need to fall in love.

I will always buy these hot new items,

Up until when they return themselves for a suggestion of a better day.

I will always like the rainy days, the steps of withdrawal;

An addict addicted to addiction,

Proving forever endlessly that the glares from mirrors and people’s faces will always be equally harsh.

I put on my glazed sunglasses, and walk.