The tree is hung with
tarnished stars and wilting tinsel. The china figurine
of Little Bo-Peep stares back
at post-holiday gawkers. She revolves on her scarlet string
like a hanged man. She's bonneted like a bishop,
holds a crook like a crozier.
She cracked from the heat of the Yule log. Her flock
fled that pastoral blaze en masse, only to face
a hail of plastic bullets fired by a set
of fifty assorted gunners labelled "Wars of the 20th Century."
Bo-Peep watches it all
with stone-blue eyes. Next time you're up on the mantelpiece with her
don't turn your back.
--word salad
Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Toys, the Day After
Labels:
free verse,
poetry,
wordpower
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