Magician

art by mckenzie


Magician

A magician played a red oboe,
Oranges grew on the stucco tree branches.
No one cared,
The audience wanted some faked tricks
That showed mechanical skill.
They cared nothing for real oranges
Growing on stucco trees.


Duane Locke

Posted over on The Write Gallery

Author's Notes:
"Magician"

I have often noticed how people worship the false and the artificial and overlook, never see true magic, true miracles, such the clicking of a fiddler crab's claws, or the leap of a flea, or the motions of a spider's legs weaving a web. This poem was written after a conversation with my neighbor who ardently expressed an admiration of the things I disdained.

She thought one of the greatest things in life was to ride in a limousine. She was such a fool she thought Rod McKuen a poet. This poem was antidote to the poison her words had put into my body.