The squirrel's nervous tail
twitches
twirls jumpy circles
readying for a leap
from the sturdy oak
to the blowing pine
“in Wintersea, thou must bend
to meet the winds of time
with thy open hand,” the wizard whispers
“be ready to catch all noises
waiting
between the slimmest of branches.”
the Minister and his wife are leaving
the swamps of Dismal
hymn books in their suitcases
they're heading to New York City
for the Macy's Day Parade
their overblue eyes spilling Hope
on the cock-eyed path
on the broken roadside
the ugly Madonna's Vogue
waving in perfect squares that frame their faces
the Hag bubbles a hate potion in her blackpot mouth
the wicked little girls steal some
and spit the yellow acid
burning holes in the Book
the squirrel jumps
dried pine needles jingle
a dainty cadence
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