Barack Obama looks into a mirror and sees Mount Rushmore. But what does the mirror see? I had a revealing experience many years ago. I came upon my Irish setter pup staring at a full length back of a door bedroom mirror, rigid as stone. He could see there was something looking back at him, but since there was no smell, his primary sense, all his instincts told him there was nothing there. Yet clearly there was. Obama is like my long gone but never forgotten Irish setter pup; he sees his reflection and believes there is something there.

 

 

TO A LOOKING GLASS

 

Reflections of an empty room

A curtain moving in the breeze

A passing figure briefly seen

It cares not all for what it sees

The heirloom hanging in the hall

Reflects the living, not the dead

Who are still there, beneath the new

Who will in time have in their stead

The newer still, the living shades

Mere visitors, a constant frieze

The mirror hangs there, silent, still

Not caring all for what it sees

 

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