Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

I go to bed with Snow White.  Her skin is a field of lilies, but

she sings in her sleep about someday; I want to yell, “I’m here right now.”

Why didn’t I marry the one who took fairy Ambien, or the one who can’t talk?

When dawn breaks, Snow offers me coffee & juice and oatmeal, breakfast in bed.

I think things are looking up, until she says, “It’s fresh!  Apple-cinnamon!

The nice old lady selling produce gave me a free sample.”

I compost the oats and agree to a party to cheer her; she misses days gone by.

But her small hairy friends bring pick axes to the fest; they also sing too much,

except the one who scowls in the corner.  I get it; I’m grumpy, too.

The next morn as Snow slumbers, I rise and look where I musn’t—

in her diary, marked private, i’s dotted with hearts, she’s written,

“I wish he were a frog, or at least a little more charming. Le sigh.”

Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Who’s the least content of all?