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The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the
Smiling faces.
He met the gazes --- observed the spaces between the
Old men’s cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred --- oblique
Suggestions --- and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkin-eaters --- static-humming
Panel-beaters --- freshly day-glow’d factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing).
He titillated men-of-action --- belly warming, hands
Still rubbing on the parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating
One-line jokers --- t.v. documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers).
Sunday paper backgammon players --- family-scarred
And women-haters.
Then he called the band down to the stage and he
Looked at all the friends he’d made.
The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the
Rabbit-run.
And threw away his looking-glass - saw his face in
Everyone.
Read more lyrics about / on: sunday, family, song, friend
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