WIG SHOP CHOIR
You, for whom the bluebirds of happiness
Dress up as prison guards, turning and
Raising your arms – just now – in triumph,
Grasping a chicken leg gnawed to the bone.
Maestro
Of the wig shop choir!
I could almost hear it, the last glorious F
Still hanging in the freezing air
As I stepped into the crosswalk,
The mad king applauding
With his two red hands.
Daniel Lawless
