Womb Magic

For the SLAM, about a quiet accomplishment.

Two rehearsals went awry.

First I stumbled, dropped the wand
I heard the heckling audience's hiss

and then onstage I felt

I froze

I felt
unsympathetic spotlights
stealing all the magic words
I ever knew.

Of course there is a trick to it.

I was under the illusion
I was under
it
would be effortless, the show'd go on
without me after all it was
a commonplace performance for the man
behind the curtain, for all the men
behind every curtain

and I said
if I was not the world’s best
well I could always adopt another occupation
I could take on an apprentice I could
quietly retire

but then
in time
at last
suspending disbelief

I conjured you from soul and cell and bone
with nothing up my sleeve
in one swift sleight of
hand

and pulled,
to rave reviews,
a living breathing rabbit
from an enchanted empty hat.