Broken Mirror

April 2

Among the smells and yells,

the bang-clang of pots

against cast iron grills,

I wait for my order, eyes focused
on the doe-faced girl

as she twirls a slender tress

and stares at herself

in the mirror, dreaming…

what?  Still innocent and unscathed,

she hasn’t learned yet that dreams

are just that;

In a year or two she’ll take

mother’s place, scrubbing the counter

and cooking over an open flame, sweat

trickling down her back, ankles swollen,

over-taxed knees slowly disintegrating

while Happy Cat sits

dark and sullen on the counter

and no longer waves.