Marionette Soup

Marionette soup comes in a midnight bowl Filled to the brim with mushroom tumbling Under the golden moon dolls cut their strings Nutcrackers on crash diets sink saltines Welcomed to float inside awhile But not included in the price of dining Russian dolls introduced to soup dive in One after another dropped into darkness Each one becomes smaller and smaller Within themselves only they know why Perhaps pretty painted faces need flavor To appreciate the human race There is no soup for you! Forget about spoons at this hour Two dainty fingers made of wood Hold the bowl sides in balance for taste Preparing to slurp what is inside But marionettes are dignified. They don’t slurp Discerning humans understand this part It is an art They have come to eat you and your soul Assuming you have one worth consumption