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?


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

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

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

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