The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the
smiling faces
He met the gazes observed the spaces between the
old men's cackle
He brewed a song of love and hatred oblique
suggestions and he waited
He polarized the pumpkin eaters static humming
panel beaters freshly day glow'd factory cheaters
salaried and collar scrubbing
He titillated men of action belly warming, hands
still rubbing on the parts they never mention
He pacified the nappy suffering, infant bleating
one line jokers TV documentary makers
overfed and undertakers
Sunday paper backgammon players family scarred
and women haters
Then he called the band down to the stage and he
looked at all the friends he'd made
The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the
rabbit run
And threw away his looking glass saw his face in
everyone