by Mr. Sheehy
I am smiling at you,
my two-foot companion, sitting
on the toilet seat brushing your teeth
with passion, as I shave.
The backwards toothbrush bothers you none;
you stroke the plastic handle across your incisors
and play for me
perhaps Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.
Perhaps I too evoke a smile each morning
when I look into this foggy mirror
considering the day ahead,
planning like I know something
about how the world works
or even who I am.
This poem is the property of Geoffrey Sheehy should not be republished in any form without the writer’s consent.