Illusions

Something about seemingly instant transport
and cutting vivacious, blonde showgirl assistants in two
that harkens back to Vegas’ grand old days–
with rough, vulgar, sleazy overtones
that spoil the magic
in the name of laughs

But illusions win
while gold leaf rabbits
chomp mechanically on pewter carrots
that disappear until the
ten o’clock show–and the
the little boy stammers,
“Where’d he go?” as lights go down
and then up on the magician
now sitting miraculously in the chair on the aisle.

Unquestionable skill and stealth technique
make watching him easier
than listening to him.

"Am I destined to be a farm rabbit my whole life? If only I were independently wealthy or white so I might make it into a magic show," lamented Mr. Wiggly. Too bad he could not see how happy everyone was who actually saw him as he prepped for another day at the barn.

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