MONGOOSE

At bedtime I used to hear of Mongoose the Magician

Who, in my mind, looked pretty much like my father

(When I was three, he was a handsome man indeed

To me, if not the world at large).  Mongoose had a son

Called, at my suggestion, Rangoon. My small imagination

Decided Rangoon’s mother’s name was Mrs. Mongoose.

Though possessed of great and varied powers, Mongoose

Had trouble making a living. He was often out of work

And sometimes had to disclaim his magic, as when

He pretended to be a scientist to get a place

With a Polar expedition. During the Arctic winter

His magic froze; when the spring thaw finally came

Six months of spells took effect at once. (The Aleutians

May still be an island short.). Once, he conjured from a mirror

Another self who insisted he was the real Mongoose

The two Mongeese dueled but, being quite evenly matched,

Reduced themselves to two piles of neatly folded clothes.

Rangoon, I’m sorry to say, was no help at all then.

Luckily, Mrs. Mongoose unerringly went to one set,

Saying that of course she knew her own husband.

He kissed her, grateful to be back. But ever after

He was uncertain as to which of him he really was.

These days, looking into mirrors, I also pause.