I Shoppe at Disneyland with Walt's Daughters
This poem was published in Crack The Spine.
Each ride spits us into a shop
where we can't spin far without Walt.
He loves his Fantasia flowers.
We giggle, pick Minnie sunglasses,
peer over rims to watch boys
play the crowd with cap guns
smuggled from pirates. Little red dots
pop, smoke rises and rides the wind
to the next Land. We can't decide,
one souvenir or ten? I resolve
to stick with fifty. Walt clicks his tongue.
You are out of control, girls.
He snips our hair in the barbershop,
takes our money. Come again! Come any time!
He puts his cigarette out in a topiary
and I shout, Stop! Thief! But I'm in bud,
and so he shapes me,
plants me where I stand.
Published in Crack the Spine, December 1, 2020 | Issue 266.