A reworking of ‘The Mirror’ by Charles Baudelaire.
‘Why look?’ The shopkeeper asked.
‘You’ll only make the mirror crack.’
I shoot back: ‘Sirrah, the ’71 Commune waged an insurrection for all people. I think I’m entitled to my reflection. Maybe nobody could stomach to kiss this. But that’s my own business. Who cares if I’m a poor man’s Blanqui?’
The other didn’t spake, just stared blankly.
I hope my ugliness is too much, I thought. I hope the mirror breaks.
