Broken-Down Oz

Broken-Down Oz

Next time you're on an examing table,
count the cracks on the ceiling
to see where that dingy yellow
brick road sweeps you away.
Where Toto's barks lead you
to a wizard who wears a poker hat,
tipping it down to you.

The witch ( playing doctor games ) whispers
flying monkey nonsense in your ear
and a munchikin nurse comes in,
groping your breast for more lumps.

The gruff orderly takes your pulse
and casting his scarecrow shadow over you,
almost reading your frightened baby blue
Dorothy eyes like a book.
He wasn't that literate --
still piercing a needle into your arm
and those thoughts of him
being a good witch or a bad witch are lost.
Your mind becomes a huge hot-air balloon,
high in the sky from this magic land
and drifting back to Kansas without you.

You can't click those ruby slippers:
cheap movie props fall apart fast
when they're bought for a buck.
They won't stop that house -
plummeting when you look up
to the clear pale azue skies
and wish to hear God's voice.

Even when you wake up
in the morning with hostility
casting your heart into iron
and looking at your reflection;
chest caving inward and bald-headed.
You feel like a rusted Tin-man,
but the only sex now he ever got
was a 1-800 hotline.

The Emerald City in your vision has dimmed
and the wizard had a drawl at his poker game,
bidding you a good-day --
leaving you alone on those p**s-colored stones
in the wonderfu(**ing)l land of Oz.