Hard to believe this day is here again,
though some feel the passage of time
whenever they look into the mirror, others won’t look,
and some go mystical, and some go mad.
The youngest have the toughest
job. They must find what they’ve lost
again and again. No wonder this
one stares at a mirror all day long, as if
the one who is missed and missed
might suddenly appear, like a rabbit
from a hat, or Eve from Adam’s rib.
To recognize himself, another courts
death in every guise. Late at night,
he loves it best when rain swallows the road
so fast all he can do is pray for
angels—for here he does not fear rebuff
yet he should, he should. Truth is,
no one knew. And no one, not the first,
nor the second, could find a cure.
And a third, alone, and sick with sex, and rapt,
Still tries to drown the pain, one
puppy at a time, while another, intent on
red, white and blue, in wave after wave,
doodles him symbols convex and concave.
