Your Story in the Mirror

There is always a little indignation when one looks at one's face in the mirror;

-Whether it is from sins of the past or the daily grind;

-Whether it is from starlet's gaze or the fast food yield;

-Whether it is from the inner struggle or the outer facade.

There is always a little imperfection when one looks at one's face in the mirror;

-Whether it is scarred from birthed life;

-Whether it is fixed by the best many times over;

-Whether it is marred from life's adventures.

There is always a little implication when one looks at one's face in the mirror;

-Whether it is a telltale sign of a life full lived;

-Whether it is a small hue of light's reflection;

-Whether it is a dot that shines in the sun.

There is always a story of grand design when one looks at one's face in the mirror.

Where'd You Learn to Skate

Around 1980, I rode my "Big Wheel" in the Wyoming desert, just like Ponch and John. I wore my green "Oscar the Grouch" pajamas. It was the closest thing to I had to a patrolman's uniform. You laughed and smiled and kept the Polaroid.

Around 1990, I had the game of my life. "That's my boy," you yelled and cheered. Your promised a dollar for every point I made. I went home that day with $18 dollars and a win that day.

Around 1987, I was over at Eagle's house. You called to see how I was doing. We played Mad-Libs and Legos. Eagle's dad worked for Reagan.

Around 1993, I had a job as the sweep boy in an auto body shop. I washed the tow trucks, swept the floor, and shoveled coal for the old furnace. You brought me lunch one day and asked how I was doing. I lasted maybe two more weeks.

Around 2001, the towers came down. We are at war. I am barely married one year.

Around 1996, you took me to college . I didn't have a car, so we rented a van and you drove me half-way across the States. You dropped me off, took a nap, and then turned around and drove all 2000 miles back home alone.

Around 1994, dad lost his job and you worked a lot. It didn't snow that Christmas. Josh bought me a book and said everything would be alright.

Around 1984, I learned to rollerskate. I could glide on air and twirl on the floor. I could fly so fast that no one could catch me. J.W. showed me how.

Around 1988, summer came with nothing to do. I was too young to work. My sister and I watched Goonies every morning and then walked to the park. You asked how our day was. You looked tired.

Around 1998, I went skating with some friends. I told them I could skate. I kept falling on my hands. "It must be the skates," I say. Jay asked, "So where'd you learn to skate?"

Around 1982, I go to work with dad and my sister went to work with you. It was Saturday. Dad talked on the radio and you counted money. We met for lunch and then played the rest of the day.