Red Parade

Her staggered turn:
hour come, she raves,
red breasts aflop
like two giant eyeballs.

She shakes in trance,
the short fat snakes
writhe fiercely, grasped
firmly one in each fist.

To spellbound snarl
of stranded cat
perched on her bonnet
like a puma on rock.

The eyes of the future
Byzantine saint
bulge from her head
like two tiny nipples.

In her cascade skirt,
face violently painted,
she stomps and clicks
heel for heel in dance.

Aura bathed
in negative red,
her echoes, in miniature,
trailing, castanet her.

Rattle snake left!
Rattle snake right!
And they all swirl on
in a red parade.

Clockwork dolls
admonishing, Greek:
"The truth, Cretans!"
"Cretans, the truth!"


2000 Peter Waugh