Mirrors and Smoke
it is after all nothing
but shadow and
artificial light
the hall of speckled mirrors
at the old amusement park
next to the oligotrophic lake
distorting the sky
a maze of aging
silver and polished sand
angles cut to confuse
to cause you to
bump your head
twist your shoulder
not trust what you see
turn backward to go forward
spin forward to get around
make left turns ending right
take right turns ending nowhere
dirty windows in front of
silver emptiness behind
a reflection of a reflection
that extends in a sudden curve to infinity
a hall designed to display
your worst side
from every unflattering angle
your portrait distorted at the finish
in the cracked convex glass
below the exit sign
some days
the owners
of the fun park
put a clown
in the middle
of the maze
to entertain you
red frown
orange hair
made-up face
suntan makeup and blue mascara
multiplying
contorting
extending to each streaky pane
the mirage
of his clown head
looking over the shoulder
of each confused patron
at each futile turn
and when you're
bored enough
laughing at yourself
you stumble out
startled by the
unfiltered rays
of the yellow day
ride the coaster
merry-go-round
water slide or
train to nowhere
it doesn’t matter if
you’re black brown
native un-american
born here or somewhere else
premeditated perpetually
gun-toting un-educated mongrel
a pedigree with a four-year degree
overweight caucasian or not
anything but a
preternaturally
uber-wealthy boy
or a tech savvy dude
with a start-up
and you end up
after the last ride
with your pocket picked
your lips sticky
from the cotton candy
the color of morning sky
dazed distracted disoriented
by the cacophonous cajoling
chorus of crowd-hustling hawkers
you toss your crumpled dollars
in the basket
at the booth
with the little door
in the bottom
and the hand
poking through
spend your last token
watching the hand puppets
at the hand-puppet theatre
dressed as medieval priests
the arms of the puppet masters
stuck up through the lower half
of their half-open socks
you scratch the black holes
on your lottery tickets
before throwing them away
toss in the
fountain for the poor
the last nickel
you had squeezed
between the two dimes
you lost at the slots
you sip some cheap bourbon
while the software
verifies your face
to keep america great
all the while slipping
down the slippery
soda-soaked slope
to the gates littered
with discarded burger wrappers
plastic straws
where the traveling barker
has set up shop
to close the deal
steal the gold
from the gathering crowd
walk away with the prize
his right hand waving
a sapphire flask
the elixir
the dazzling torch
the cure for all that ails us
creating the distraction
his left hand
working behind his back
from his pocket to the handle
that turns the lever
that twists the rope
opening the trap door
that lets loose the smoke