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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
Copyright ©
Earl Schumacker
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