No reason to go forward or backward
when you see a gyroscope gather speed
before slowing to a wobble with dust
shedding auroras around men who call
you Son, then Would you give me what I ask?
So goes the spiel to awed orphans of rubes
who flee all their fathers to slip under
tent flaps, ogling girls already women
doing hootchy-kootchy to buy tickets
sending these little men out of Egypt
downriver to reach the tributary
that carries them as far as the mamas
hawking their wares outside the ruby house
taking on the overflow of papas.
(18 June 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander