Three Poems


         Don’t think. Look.

The mirror needs cleaning. Leaning in

you search behind the haze of dust
and find the boy peering from behind
his father’s half-shaven face
whitewashed with lather. The bathroom

isn’t big enough for the two of them,
but he still stands there staring
at those framed features, something
of his own dark eyes in the father’s
burning through the bright glass

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