slight of hand

transformed themselves from children to slight 
of hand in front of the silver bulb light
 
two waved flags, all wore turbans, one sat on 
a musical chair first after the music
played no more
 
performed their feats on Saturday at “New Hillsoats
House on Jibbets corner”,
 
messrs. “Ransleys and Mipps”, proprietors, never let
any riff raff in,
 
“mrs. Waggett, the vicar’s wife, soul of discretion,
like pocketing a fiver during a church
holy water baptismal,
 
liked to wink at the choir boys,
 
she didn’t care to be on any straight and narrow,
not even with holy figures in stain glass 
windows looking over her shoulder,
 
took in their wash on the sabbath,
 
just like castle serfs who washed crusader’s
crosses in moats of dust;
 
the children’s legerdemain turned sand into comets,
matches into magic lanterns,
 
hand fans into whirlwinds, audience members
disappear behind billowing curtains,
 
and for the pièce de résistance, flew around 
“New Hillsoats House” theatre on a
moth eaten carpet   
 
messrs. “Ransleys and Mipps”, proprietors made sure
the three received several curtain calls;
 
standing ovations were at the foot of their beds 
given by parents before the
sandman came,
 
four watt lightning bugs flew through open windows 
and plugged themselves into electrical 
outlets 
 
the boys had light like dimly lit stage candles which
flickered similar to the vicar’s wife’s romantic
fantasies
 
ab·ra·ca·dab·ra, these children transformed themselves 
from a set age boundary to adults,
 
the silver bulb light took a new black and white 
of younger clothed with magic
 
cradled in their slight of hand…
 Image
 
Copyright © 04/13/2012  Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®
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