Darling Marionette

He is slumped on wood legs that are bent

To the shape of bicycle frames.  Before,

He could tap and sing so that crowds would adore

His plump red fish lips.  But now they are rent

Along with his draw strings.  His hinges all creak,

Loose in the wind.  Ah, once with his smile

He would charm his way into bars, joke just a while,

End with a sonata, applause, and a drink:

On to the next night of the act!  But rose

And wine years left him worn rasp, with a stain

For a mouth.  Now he belts oxidized pain

Under blankets, cardboard, soiled clothes…

But suddenly from his box he can glance

Summer scraped knees that cheer: lucky star chance!