The mirror divides the two
Shall we call them swans?
They stare at each other
Through the two way mirror
The glass separating them
From each other
The one on the right turns
And the one on the left does as well
Perfect synchrony
They're tuned to each other exactly
Each movement brings a counter from the other
A burnt out cigarette falls to the ground
The black swan turns at the sound
As does the white one
And two gunshots ring out
Ding dong the swans are dead.