A CHERRY LEMONADE FOR THE MAN ON THE VELOCIPEDE PLEASE

we are the jesters in olde world costumes

bright slippers, with stale rolls,

outbound souls, gestures of the

harlequinade, the dancing days; 

with invisible wings and gauze, 

we give them pause,

the brokers in the rain

bounding for their trains.

o may they fill our tricorner hats

to the brim caught in the nets of whimsey; 

with spare gold, a doubloon or so, 

for stories told,

the odd star sapphire.

odd isn't it, how a lifetime

can be spent as plain as plain

with no revelations whatsoever

in the main

then, down the drain

we, on the other hand appear to them

over decorated

like Eloise at Christmas

careening in and out of traffic

clown car happy 

making it snappy

or tappity tappity

while making tiny payments

on the velocipedes

of the fairly free; 

in revelry, 

olde poetry on a spree.

and the paper flower bouquets, 

the scarves in credible array

in quixotic shades

pulled out of the very air

we breakfasted on, 

just yesterday.

mary angela douglas rev. 24 june 2022