The Man in the Mirror Is Not Me

It’s Sunday morning

The calender says so

For all I know

Days don’t have names anymore


I watch my legs move forward

And backwards

My feet clumsily doing what feet do

I get him to move his arms

Just to see if they’re still working

I crack his fingers

The sound is pleasant to me

But he cringes


While climbing the stairs

I pass a mirror

There’s someone else there, not me

I look behind myself

There’s no one

Aside from the many lists

Of employees of the month

How is this possible

He copies my every movement

We walk closer to eachother, hesitating

But back off suddenly

We stare at eachother for the longest time

Both of us seemingly waiting for the other to say something

I ask him if he has a name

He flaps his lips open and shut but there’s no sound

I ask him again

Still, nothing

I decide to waste no more time

I have work soon

I walk on

Without a glance back


I watch myself scan items at a till

He’s blurting out polite jibberish again

The customers soak it up like butter on a crumpet

Day in day out

The same music

The same lyrics

How does he do it?

“Another day, another dollar”

He repeats like a mantra

I tire of it

And think of her

Soft, milky white skin

That you could sink your teeth in to

Her hips, wide

My hands glued to them

Her eyes locked on mine


I’m in between her thighs

She slowly slips it in


And he’s still scanning items

What an idiot


Author: Jack Bennett

Born in Torbay, living in Bristol. One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.

3 thoughts on “The Man in the Mirror Is Not Me”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s