The minstrel in the gallery
looked down upon the smiling faces.
he met the gazes observed the spaces
between the old men's cackle.
he brewed a song of love and hatred,
oblique suggestions and he waited.
he polarized the pumpkin-eaters,
static-humming panel-beaters,
freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collar-scrubbing).
he titillated men-of-action
belly warming, hands still rubbing
on the parts they never mention.
he pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating,
one-line jokers, t.v. documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers).
sunday paper backgammon players
family-scarred and women-haters.
then he called the band down to the stage
and he looked at all the friends he'd made.
The minstrel in the gallery
looked down on the rabbit-run.
and threw away his looking-glass -
saw his face in everyone.