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Desperado
Someone's beating on the door
but it's not for me;
it's not my door.
The people are yelling,
their voices smooth and soft.
I think I slipped
under the water line
in a tub-shot:
black and white
movie circa
50's horror flick.
The music box plays the
sweet melody meant to
send me to sleep
with visions of sugarplums,
meadows, soaring eagles,
wildflower bouquets just picked
for me.
I was always frightened
by the little ballerina
in her pink net tutu…
arms in perfect arch
above her head.
She disappeared to silence
when I shut the lid,
popped up ready and dancing
every time I opened it…
no matter how many times
I opened it.
She obviously didn't have
anything else to do.
I used to try to
peek inside…
see if she had a
life in there.
It scared me to think
what would happen
if I forgot
to open the box for a while -
would she pop up
covered in cob webs?
Sometimes
when I opened the box
that pink net tutu
would catch the light
and I'd be so sure
this was that time.
Sometimes
we verge on purple.
The voices are
still yelling, but
now a TVs
in competiton.
It's a long dance
from Desperado.
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