Through the Looking Glass

A poem of self-reflection.

     Through the Looking Glass

Each morning I face my second self

and watch him brush his teeth, as if they

would not come clean without my witnessing.

And when I floss, I flick flecks of food

into his unflinching face just before

I lather up and see if that other-handed

man will make a move that makes me

bleed –  or leaves me with those other

wounds the world will never see.