Plucking At My Rainbow Trees/When Luck Runs Out

"song, let them take it"

-William Butler Yeats

scavenger birds took to the air

plucking at my rainbow trees plucking at my rainbow trees

unraveling my iridescence

thinking there was none to see.

one saw through the one crystal pane remaining.

one saw the berries threaded through; ah, Yeats beshrewed!

all on a snitched and golden string and vari-coloured, bulbed
though it wasn't Christmas yet.

you don't really read the fairytales, do you.

I bit my tongue not to say

the whole way through-

but someday you will act the play, unknowing

where the stolen gemstones pale to dust;

the hoard of kidnapped words

you planned on using abusing

will slit their bands

all wild-swan in the morning

leaving you, the bare stage.

mary angela douglas 22 april 2014;rev. 20 january 2015