–

–

like a wind-up toy whose feet catch

and whose plastic parts seize,

 –

tapping on the table

a tiny tune of tragedy,

–

and when the child’s eyes

sallow with A.D.D.,

–and wander for turkish delight–

 –

and when the cat

misplaces his interest,

–his white kid gloves–

 –

Whir away.

Unstick your molded feet

and whirr away. Off the

table with a mighty clatter that

fetches Anna the dog. Whirrr away

under the sofa

Where you’ll build your Eldorado of dust

And wear your fruit loop head piece,

And finally find time

to make (your own) believe.