The Blue Puppet
“The blue puppet hanging in the closet is a lot like me, ” you say.
“I was broken and beaten, a hand forced up my rear,
Made to do monkey tricks and cast spells on unsuspecting children.”
Your bloom and bonnet speak volumes about forgotten things,
The elements of mindful unease, cast within the complex of procreation.
How long before you riddle back, unrhyming the rhetoric of hate,
Producing new possibilities out of half-remembered spectres.