Changing My Reflection’s Diaper

I change my reflection’s diaper on an hourly basis.

Every 60 minutes or so I have to look at it and think

that was once food in my stomach,

it was because I spent money to buy that that there’s not another bus

ticket in my wallet,

or full pens in my mug,

or paper on the table.

But my daily bread I owe in part to this all too cooperative reflection,

and in part to my willingness to receive what it has to offer.

So I guess I too, give a shit, just in a different way.

The way it laughs is so innocent. It’s really a joy to be around.

And sometimes when it reaches through the mirror and holds on to me

and tries to wrap its legs around mine

like its about to climb a flagpole,

I look down at its face

and see it’s trying to climb into a new place, the little mirror monkey.

There’s no use trying to tell it to stay in the mirror. It goes to work with me,

and starts to swing from doorframe to doorframe

like a chimpanzee trying to impress a chick

or simply cope with not understanding how a fart can be so terrifying.

It gets in the way of progress always trying to demonstrate

how even though humans can be more intelligent than it,

the developmental capability of a no year old has its advantages.

Soon it’ll rise up above all this knowledge and metal, and make us its

version of Planet of the Apes,

scream out across the top of a building its Konged to the top of

and wonder if it can bounce.

When that happens I hope I’m still there to tell it no, emphatically,

even if it seems like merely delaying the inevitable.