As you may or may not know, I've been performing once a month with the remarkable Poetry Brothel. When I first came on board, I searched my memory for early experiences with poetry, and sadly found it as dry as the desert I come from.

This morning, after brushing my teeth and admiring my nostrils, I recalled a poem from high school. Somewhere between my morning acne medication and afternoon baseball practice, I read a poem that would stick with me, and find it's way onto the future weblog you're currently reading.

The Guy in the Glass

Dale Wimbrow, 1934

When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that guy has to say.

For it isn’t your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the guy staring back from the glass.

He’s the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear up to the end,
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the guy in the glass is your friend.

You may be like Jack Horner and “chisel” a plum,
And think you’re a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.

You can learn more about the Poetry Brothel here. Come down, have a drink, and I'll personally pick your pocket. 

Your friend,