Polly Anna Wonderland

I am not a participant,
Fingers knuckle deep
In the popcorn cup.
I am not the loud girl
In blond hair,
Strawberry lips flapping
Of mine, me, I did, I do.
I am a theatre ogre
Dressed in modern chick,
Zipper of my boots
Reaching towards the pulling
Hem of a pink checked mini skirt.
I am a mirror of eyeballs,
A chorus of old men,
Hello, how are you, ahem.
This place is too cold
For a fall night,
Screaming starlets too scared
For the silliness of sorority massacre.
I am a fist full of white knuckles
And the words of the women
At the ticket line,
A jolly laugh and a one liner,
A series of sighs about eating right.
Tonight I am happy to walk
The same streets with strangers,
The common ground where
Everyone connects,
An intersection of humanity
In this place where I become part
Of the bigger picture.
Part of me becomes a Celtic musician
In a highlanders world.
Silly witch of Salem,
Black fingernails and
An old wooden broom,
Shadow across a silver moon
Where Halloween celebrates it’s season.
I am dropping diamonds
And toads hair upon all the little houses
Where jolly gnomes chop
Ground worms for their soup.
Just a little beatnik and a
Whole lot of free soul,
Gatherer of life-stones,
Each a leaden memory,
I am stumbling steadily toward
The shore of some Polly-Anna
Wonderland-lakeside and tossing
All my worries to the fish and snails.
They all think I’m crazy,
Making wishes while the minnows smile.

(First appeared in Lit Up magazine, 2010)