Oh such are these delusions of grandeur-
the dancing boys, the fire eaters!
the little gnome at the podium
nuns as mad as the Hatter chasing
little white rabbits across the pasture,
the one with the torn skirt riding her tractor over the hill
and Prima Donna who glides along in her sylph-like solo
and jessie,who has almost
forgotten all, concentrates still
with fingertips and sunburnt lips
on the reeds and buttons of her fairy flute
and there's even me in this one weedy corner
sitting, banging on my toy tambourine
on and on and on till someone pricks an ear-
and the sisters and brothers gathered at the far end
of this wheat field, jamming on
into the full round belly of the moon.
- Miriam Adelman
