That Grand Old Mirror
D Dónall Dempsey
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I was staring my Death
in the face
and it looked exactly
like me
as I struggled to escape
the dark waters
of the canal
littered with junk
that nobody wants
(including me)
old bedsteads...kitchen sinks...useless bicycles
and this grand old mirror
reflecting my Death
back at me
and I now(having changed
my mind)
eager for air
and sunlight
but trapped by the leg
by God...knows what...
staring at myself
in the mirror
for possibly the last time
erasing my mind
like a child’s drawing gone wrong
some bloody hero
diving into the next day’s headlines
saving me
from the cluttered bedroom of my death
old bedsteads...surreal bicycles
and that grand old mirror
still lying there
with my Death
it’s last memory
of human kind
annoyed that I had
cheated it
of its reflected glory.
Sometimes
still I dream
I’m lying there
still
seeing nothing
...nothing.
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