Cynic's Fairy Tale

     the Earth spins around
     the Sun it goes down
     there's blood all over the moon

     and the rats, they say
     in the old time way
     make love in abandoned rooms

     so the picture-book aisles and the syrupy smiles
     do their best for a poison dream
     but a mail order life with a ready-made wife
     is a gasp in a long, long scream

     the bills they come in through the front door slot
     the lovers by backdoor stairs
     so draw the blind over conscience's eye
     it's time for the Animal Fairs


     the dead-silent rooms
     they make cold plaster tombs
     where the hate freely flits up and down

     then he tips his black hat
     and blows his grey nose
     on the hem of a soft white gown

     so the covers come off and the TV comes on
     the clock hands spin wildly around
     there's a crack in the door, a hole in the floor,
     and the walls come crumbling down

     so the people they leave but the memories stay
     to try it again on their own
     the picture-book aisles and the syrupy smiles
     are left there all alone