Bacon On Sundays Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the black-eyed Susans she brought with her
meant for her auntie wilted by the time
she got to Oz.

she cried.
then Toto snuffed around
for emerald flowers instead.

they never said she was inconsolable
after that. they never said.
the whole time in Oz

missing the butter running down the johnny cakes,
and bacon on Sundays.
in love with the sparkles on the Good Queen's dress

and her own shoes.
but missing the haystacks by noon.
the Scarecrow felt as much.

but he wasn't talking either.
at night they both dreamed of sunflowers.

mary angela douglas 12 july 2015