Watching the Wizard of Oz in Prison
we sit there straining & stiff
in straight-backed chairs
half a dozen of us
following Dorothy’s naïve plunge
into trouble & Technicolor
a fantasy less enchanting
than in the innocence of our youth
what is Dot but a body dressed in innocence?
her Betty Boop oh-mys
her dance-stepping along the avenues
like a skipped stone or drop of paint
from a bucket left on a booming speaker &
how she makes friends with strangers
what her mama warned her about
more likely to encounter one of us
cowardly heartless & out of our minds
we forgive her this slip-up
having come with her so far
we go on following at a safe distance
like guardian angels with bloody swords &
when we arrive at the Emerald City
we sneak thief-like through the gates
wanting to see her achieve her goal
which is the same as ours
