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What Men Do

MIRROR MIRROR

I crash my wheelchair into the dresser, my
mirror jumps, sweeps the cds off the top of the stereo
lands just so, not breaking, landing enough
on the bed not to shatter, but shaking
loose in the frame, with nothing to reflect
except the spackled ceiling. My mirror rests,
no more selves to see, nothing but ceiling –
no coupling to reflect.

 

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