The Mirror Effect: Part I


A man with no shoes

walks by with a limp.


His arms -

covered

in tattoos

and scars -

are lethargic

by choice.


The biting

winter sun

delivers respite

from late December

northerlies.


He reeks of Franzia.

Redolent, it shadows

him, haunts

him like what he drinks

to forget.


His unkempt white beard

is stained yellow

around the mouth

from years of cigarettes

and no-shave Novembers.


He dons a jacket

- faded glory -

that is two sizes too small

and his pants stay together

like a couple for their kids.


Too proud to join

the Salvation Army

on Christmas Eve,

he finds his bench,

lies down


and survives

one

more

night.



The Mirror Effect: Part II


A man in a suit

drives home in an Audi.


His collar

is stained

with cheap lipstick

and Chateau Lagrange

from last night's

late night meetings.


Angie, his wife,

waits anxiously

at the door

of their four bedroom,

three and a half bath

Victorian.


Her eyes -

still puffy

and red -

fixated up Swann St.

She is not blinking

and barely breathing.


The kids

have been sent to Grandma's

for the night.


They watch TV -

SpongeBob SquarePants.


The Audi

drives by a man on a bench

He looks asleep -

possibly dead.


The suit inside thinks to himself:

“That poor man.”