It's so caked in dust you can't even see a reflection. You wipe it down with your rag and see yourself through the hairline cracks and streaks of filth. You see your wife. You see her fucking him in your bed. You see your son telling his friends you're a doctor. Telling them you died in the war. You can see yourself on the motel floor cradling an empty bottle of Beam. The phone's ringing. You didn't wake up. You didn't even know she was gone, did you? You can see yourself the way they see you. Hairline cracks and streaks of filth. The mirror shatters on your fist and your fist shatters on the wall behind it. You pick up a shard from the ground and see them in it, happy. You drag the business end from wrist to elbow, close your eyes, and lie down in the filth. Where you belong