Pinata Ii Poem by robert dickerson

thumb-nail booklets and parti-colored tiddlies
set to leap one another over:
divers that dive and rockets that glare-
these and more befall one who rends the pinata.
No, Uncle, I'll not be satisfied with the outside,
no matter how nice I want what's inside.

Elder

Clever child, you have made a choice:
Informed, wholesome and entirely your own.
Frankly, I prefer my chair
my easel and my guitar;
Frankly, I'd rather observe the breezy
undulations of what must undeniably be called
the centerpiece of the feast.
Just remember this: You cannot take it back,
Once the pinata is torn, it's contents spilled
it can never be repaired or turned
into a Chinese lantern or any beautiful thing
(not that it isn't beautiful enough, spilled.
You cannot gather up the fallen sweets and toys
commingled with the dust.
Watch or play-these do seem to be the choices,
either having merit for the chosen.
How lovely were it otherwise,
but it's not.
So here, take this stick-
(I'm giving you mine)
It's your birthday-the pinata is yours:
Give it a whack
and bring me a piece of candy, too,
or a small sailing ship,
Hurry, but just one.