Thursday, September 13, 2012

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?

4 comments:

  1. Love this debut!
    LOL at "le sigh."
    So originally and precisely put.

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    1. Thank you, Daniel, for reading and being such a supportive attendee of my debutante ball:).

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  2. Oh, yeah. A much better twist on relationship ennui than "if you like Pina Coladas..." Love it.

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    1. Thanks so much for reading, Amy! Awesome comparison. :)

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