What say quilted peacocks and keepsakes in a drawer?
What say paisley patch of dead Jane’s nighty
Stitches ripped, stitches stitched
Our patient’s black hair winding,
Stuck in pillow cream?
There is the calico ice-cream seller,
Here the tottering parasol lady
And white-faced Pierrot.
The smiling infant
And a whole crew of cockatoo characters
Parades around her sordid bed.
No mothballs, no minty candy.
Oh, pretty marionette dance!
Cry out and make her tumble from her dream
You my bonbons, my happy ringing family
Puppies leap and yelp in her little green yard, ah,
But wait ’til the waking cock crows.
~First published in ChiZine