Cleaning Mirrors

He cleaned all the mirrors in the house,
Some of the reflections he liked,
Some he didn’t,
There was one of a mean old man
With short hair and cuts and bruises on his face,
There was one of a pig and one of a stallion,
There was a bleeding rose in one,
There was a shining star in another,
In one were saints and angels,
In another the devil himself,
As he polished away the years of dust
Animated scenes appeared,
People walking down a long road,
Some weeping, some laughing,
Some carrying young children,
Scenes of warfare, scenes of lust,
Scenes of hatred and scenes of love,
Of fame and glory,
Of shame and ignorance,
He polished the last mirror,
Then, putting down the wiping rag,
Stepped inside.

Sphinx

In the Flint Hills of Kansas
The Sphinx resides,
Unrecognized by the I-70 passersby,
Who also fail to realize
The zen quality of this nature retreat
On their way to Breckenridge or Vail,
The giant legs on which it rests
Advance and retreat
For the driver who faces sideways,
Awed by the newly discovered energy
Imparted to the brown swells
That engulf the Giant’s head
Shimmering in the Kansas wind,
Smiling at the windmills that chop
The prairie air into sections,
Layering them one on top of the other
To create the anthropomorphic head,
The cat-like body,
The earth-clawing paws,
Calling to the Great Pyramids
To join in the fray,
Laughing at the mindless travelers
Who tell others to “Travel I-70
Through Kansas at night,
You won’t miss anything,”
At this the Sphinx laughs and says,
“Too frail to wail, set sail.”

When We First Met

You came up to me
I didn’t know you from Adam,
“Park your bicycle in my living room,” you said,
So we moved in together
At 201 N. Secnod Street, Leesville, Louisiana,
The street sign reflecting the malaprope
In the southern military town,
I used to walk from our three room duplex
Over one block to where the tracks were,
To watch the Kansas City Southern
Creep slowly north,
Wishing I could jump on and ride back home,
But you were there and where would that leave us?
I found out soon enough
When you called me out on the porch
Pointing to the box you had hidden underneath
That contained books of trigonometry and calculus,
You drew triangles and squares in the air
Explaining to me how I now had to leave,
I walked off with you still talking,
Between the house and the honeysuckle
You appropriated my soul,
Calling it yours in the cadence of some cabal
You were reading from the mystical books
That now covered the wicker settee
Where once we had loved each other,
Circling the yard I came upon you
With a book on your head creating a triangle hat
While you read another
That you held resting on your feet
The two forming a perfect square
With you inside as you recited:
“Peter, Peter pumpkin eater
Had a wife and couldn’t keep her.”
Over, and over, and over.