Poetry
To Dance with the Greasy Puppeteer
To dance with the greasy puppeteer
who hops on one stilt to fill a scorched bowler with loonies,
who plays an Italian love song from a boom box
and grinds Mr. Sparkles against the body
of a little girl.
He talks of traveling the world with nothing
but a rucksack full of pots and pans,
and of a wife somewhere in Nordic country
who vowed on matchbook never to return.
He learned voices from French TV
and faces from German cinema, his favorite
a dour turkey lamenting a pinwheel glued to its beak.
This is all hobo nonsense, you think,
and will not separate me from my money.
But now he needs one last volunteer for his grand finale.
Who here is happy today?
the performer screams in repeat.
The dilemma: admit happiness
or risk him spotting you slip away,
playing you the fool for children,
making you dance in front of a crowd.
