That old bunk house mirror that most of us knew
I remember it yet, and I know that you do.
One corner broke out, and a sort of a crack
That run half way across and a quarter way back.
The cheap wooden frame with the varnish all gone,
But the grease and the dirt and the fly specks stayed on.
And then the quicksilver was missin’ in spots,
But that didn’t bother a cow hand a lot.
He picked the good places and managed to shave
As he looked at his face in the ripples and waves,
No wonder the mirror was terribly wrecked
When you thought of the voices it had to reflect.
And the comb that hung down from a string underneath.
It was chuck full of gum though it lacked a few teeth.
And there on the bench was a rusty wash pan
Where we smeared yeller soap on our faces and hands.
The bosses them days didn’t go fer expense.
You could buy the whole outfit fer ninety five cents.
But boy let me tell you that old lookin’ glass
Has reflected the faces of men with a past.
I wonder it didn’t back up with surprise
If it read what was lurkin’ just back of their eyes.
I will bet there’s a lot of old hands can recall
That battered old mirror that hung on the wall.
(Bruce Kiskaddon)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Faces Poems, Past Poems, Cows PoemsBased on Keywords: missin, bosses, outfit, quicksilver, varnish, yeller, lurkin