Young Dorothy travelled out along a road of yellow bricks, kid.
Silver pumps, no ruby fakes or cinematic tricks, kid.
Men of straw— wanting brains— pin their heads to power dreams,
abandon fields for tanks, leave trails of oil slicks, kid.
Get to them before they rust, those people without hearts. (Prayer
to Incognito Jesus, who dwells with small town hicks, kid.)
The lion sleeps. The Mouse Queen calls for cart and strings and crew
to haul the cat to freedom; poppies and lions just don’t mix, kid.
Witches cruise for salvage, patios on their minds; a few
bricks here, a few bricks there; they fly on swizzle sticks, kid.
Overgrown, flattened, rubbled into dust? Have tornadoes
slammed your head-house? Might be time to trim your wicks, kid.
Auntie M! Auntie M! The dog’s pooped on the rug and there’s
no bloody rainbow! True. And you’re not at the flicks, kid.
MICHELE WAERING has an MLitt in Creative Writing from The University of Glasgow. Her poems have been published in From Glasgow to Saturn; A Thousand Cranes: Scottish Poets for Japan; From Quill to Quark; Envoi and The Ghazal Page. She lives in Renfrewshire, Scotland.