Tickets, Please

Put your hands back in,

 

 

 

 

Tickets, Please.

 

 

 

Why do you shrink back?

Lower your hands in.

 

The blades of this mixer

Would mince your nails

 

But they shouldn't make you scream.

It's impolite. To scream for petty pleasure.

 

And don't spill any blood.

 

A patch of clouds.

Peppered with crispy greed

I've whisked in there

And a tablespoon of earth

 

Is all you would need

To bake the mesh of a woman

One that walks with a limp,

Howls and scares men away,

And feeds on decent imps.

 

Promise me there would come

An hour of the day

Where the lights would blink

Before they sink

And faintly swing within

Lanterns and bottles

Behind the realm of cotton delusions.

 

Promise me that you would never

Write a promise to fill

The open mouth of a trash can.

 

Now your mad female creation

Is a thousand years old

And she was not yet told

Where tickets were sold

For those who journeyed barefoot

In the land of the brain-deprived and the bald.

Author's Note

I welcome constructive reviews. Thanks for reading.

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

I am picturing inspiration on the bus or the train. Societal commentary, social justice, and just a pinch of angst about a personal relationship? Superbly written, thoughtful, and clever.

[Coyote Poetry]

I had to read the poem a few times. Each time pulling a different thought and vision. The poem took me to many places and thoughts. I like the artwork. Gave strength to the story in the poem.
"For those who journeyed barefoot
In the land of the brain-deprived and the bald."
I like the lines above a lot. I wanted to know and read more. Thank you for the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Tea]

That was really good. I love to read more of your writing.

[YouoweYoupay]

Kokoro, thank you so much for reading: Tickets, Please.

-Rain.

[Tea]

Your welcome. :)