Lawrence Beck Poems
Here inside the fun house, every mirror
Shows us differently. In one, she's more
A girl than a woman. Weak, she lacked
The will to say she never loved me and
She wanted me to go. In another, she's
Run off, afraid because she loves me so,
And, in a third, I stand bewildered, just
A needy fool who couldn't help but throw
My heart to her. A fourth portrays me
As a creep who will not stay away.
In this room, there are no sounds.
She's here, but does not speak to me.
There are no captions, explanations
Indicating whether any mirror shows
She's good. I have to give her that.
She circles slowly, drawing nearer,
Like a jackal bent on getting her
Share out of wounded me. She'll
Wait until I finally fall. "The one
Who's gone has hurt you so, "
She says with barely hidden glee.
"Is there something that I can do? "
There is, and we both understand,