The Mirror Quietly Observes
No problem is a mystery to me, for it sounds fresh,
disrespectful, rude, what happened to you are welcome?
I do not care if it is a problem, do you?
Access your memory banks, when did this begin? Sometime in
the 90’s, I imagine. A constant reply to ‘thank you’ now.
It is all I can do to keep my composure.
Sitting here, watching these little waitresses
walk away, their hair in a little cascade waterfall,
bouncing along their confident backs. I am stuck on this
1970’s soiled flocked wall.
They are lucky I have only eyes, no mouth or nose. They
would be shocked to know what I am thinking for my
capability for thought rivals any other gold-encrusted
wall mirror I have yet to meet.
I retain my composure, as the customers parade past,
staring at me momentarily, to see what parts they are showing.
It is a human habit to glimpse at me once, swiftly look away, and
take a quick peek back into my soul.
It might be a breach of etiquette, but I readily peek back,
with zealous interest. Uh-oh, here comes the owner
of this Pizza place, he is with his current dalliance.
He thinks he has influence over his employees,
as they transform into highly engaging beings
upon his every once in a while arrival.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
