mirror to mirror


the bathroom is the warmest room in the house
with its single heat register.
the door is kept pulled to.

it's dusty.
the medicine cabinet has a light on top,
sevral bulbs behind a discolored translucent plastic face.
all the lightbulbs are out save a single dim emission
through a variety of dirty yellows.

the bathtub has sliding glass doors.
inside is in rough shape & entirely unused.
the panelling opposite the doors
is coming away from the wall.
the water pressure is terrible.
useless space occupied by spiderwebs and dust.
for a while the sewer backed up frequently into the tub
til grampa dug a ditch in the woods
between house & lagoon
to find a broken pipe.

i keep books on the tank of the toilet.
the warmest room is suitable for a rotating library.
Ulysses & the books i use to avoid it.
brief choices of poetry or short stories.

out the bathroom window, 
through cobweb curtains,
the things to be seen
are trees & leaves
clouds & blue
on a cold day of 10.

the chrome glint through trees and leaves
is the side mirror of a sedan from the thirties
where it got left once it quit.

the car is full of leaves & inhabited by animals.
in the summer plants grow on the dash
& wasps nest under the hood.

there is a spare mounted on back.
the instrument panel is plain.
there are extra pedals.

the mirrors scatter light.














why i am
a nomad: