Margie

Margie stands at the door
Red, black and blue
Pupils shrinking, a white light beckons her
She is welcomed into the World
by strange man-hands

Margie stands at the door
Six feet tall
Towering over us all
Her soul's not touching the ground
And still she is so young

Margie stands at the door
A pretty girl
with thoughts of grass and sunrises
Hopping on one leg, square by square
without a care

Margie stands at the door
Flowers blossoming
She plucks poor petals
as a thoughtless smile clouds her judgment
And he knows it

Margie stands at the door
Hoping for something more
A puppeteer and a puppet, democracy and voter
Burning like a flame
She blinks once, twice

Margie stands at the door
Wearing a raggedy gray dress and cheap perfume
Soothing her bird's nest
Tussled by preying crows
The quiet silence of the night broken by the quiet rap of bone

Margie stands at the door
Wishing she were no more
Tragedy awaits her, and she him
Pupils shrinking, she patiently waits
for the day when the strange man-hands take her again