Pay No Attention to That Poet Behind the Curtain

The naked Oz in her birthday suit
wishes it were Mae West’s. But too late.
What if she took off her feathers?
No more sleight of hand.
No more special effects.
No more Poet, radiant and magnetic.

What then?
That’s what she wonders.

Is she just full of it (snake oil, hot air)

Yet her balloon seems to have landed
in a world of magic.
No feathers, but lots of green.

Here’s the question: over the Rainbow
does even the Dust Bowl
become an occasion for grace?

And what if the ruby slippers

Mae just shrugs her shoulder.
I used to be Snow White. But I drifted.

She slips off a fur, winks at the cameraman.

Here’s a tip, kid. Don’t be in so much of a hurry
to get back to Kansas.