I am not good at
Cleaning the mirror in our bathroom.
It ends up with an all-over smudge
Foggy
A film covering over
Where the dots of toothpaste
Used to be.
The first time it happened
I was annoyed:
Here I had scrubbed and rubbed
And made it worse!
Injustice reigns!
The second time
I asked for help:
My law professor husband Tim
Knows how to clean things.
Windex, a new cloth
Multiple times
Get rid of the soap.
The third time
Trying to remember
The trick
Maybe it’s better?
The next day the sun shines in
And I see the fog
My face in the mirror
Is grayer than
My almost 50 years warrant.
This time it is funny.
Funny like the arguments
Between Tim and me
He carries the kitchen towel
Around on his shoulder while cooking
I like it hung up for all to use
He trips over my shoes
Which I forget again and leave in his way
The first few times
We are irritated
Heat rising
After that it is funny.
People are so ridiculous
In their ways
And so difficult to change.
The mirror laughs with me
Through its fog.
I’d rather have the blotches
Of old toothpaste
Than the fog.
At least then
I can see my
Reflection
And know who I am
No need to clean
Or to fix,
Only
To laugh and to celebrate
This imperfect
Self
And all its blotches.
🙂
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