The Road to Home Road
is lined with yellow brick. I have clicked
heels of ruby slippers, purchased on credit,
a different witch entirely, until they scuffed. Wishes
fly to the wind of woods. If you only had a heart,
courage, a brain, we would not be in this predicament.
I have been ignoring men behind curtains
for the better part of life, traveling
with versions of the same impotent companion,
skipping along in song, dumb
dog at my heels.