The Century Grimm Died
–“Stop telling me about fairy tales– they don’t exist!”
Follow the bouncing ball across the screen.
Animated animals always get rescued.
Steady, through the years the same message–
Leave the glass slipper, and it will find you.
When you do not want it, a bull runs you over
in the Pamplona streets. All that is seen is red,
until it is our own. The sun rises, sure, but no
one mentioned the setting. Disney sold that song,
to millions and no one paid ninety-nine cents.
Dreams hijacked, a set-up like Mob pliers to the brake
line. They still sell magical coins for fountains, power
at lemonade stands with cars in the seventies
gas crisis. When the reel stops spanking the camera,
credits to people who lie for a living, it is a return
to eight bucks in the checking, mildew in the shower,
plunging the toilet again to save the world.