Dorothy and her entourage on the front porch
wearing those ruby shoes
dinged up from yellow bricks,
asking directions, in search of a wise man,
wanting the unknown behind every door,
in every home, in every neighborhood.
Toto, provocateur, seeming innocent,
jumps from her arms
uninvited through the legs of the doorkeeper,
darting from room to room,
yapping, making mental notes
as the unexpecting jump to cover themselves.
Do you know the way to Oz?
I have to find the wizard.
My friends and I can cook you dinner
from whatever you have on hand
but we really need your help.
We could use some courage,
compassion and a brain,
a quick skip to the heart of the matter,
then back to Auntie Em,
with a Totoful of low-down
from all our different stops.
I have to know what witches and wizards
do outside of Kansas
their tales of grist and girth.
I need to stop clicking these heels
and sleeping with munchkins,
I need to snoop through your pantry,
and break into song.
I need to hear your story.
