thrift shop

the carousel horse

in the thrift store

dreams of galloping

through the moonlit dust

of a cow town 

after the cashier

locks the doors

for the night.

and the porcelain

dragons and elves,

elbow to elbow

with santas and bambis

and fat infant angels

watch from the shelves.

and the jim beam

commemorative elvis

whiskey decanter 

dances sans sullivan's

censor, shakes his pelvis,

belts out hound dog

to the dogs playing poker

in the black velvet world

and the boston bull terrier

hits an inside straight

causing the collie

to choke on his cigar.

big mouth billy bass

jumps down off the wall

swims under the falls

of the thomas kincaid idyll

finally reaching his

river of dreams.

and the bronze bowler

rolls a strike,

earns a salute from

a fine china mao

who stands resolute

over the tiger-striped couch

crouched in the corner

ready to spring

on the zebra-striped rug.

the richard m. nixon towel

with the five o'clock terry cloth jowls,

scowls at the clown-headed mug,

who provokes, i'm sorry dick,

i'm just plain bozo, not rebozo.

if you're looking for nattering

na-bobbleheads of negativity,

talk to spiro or g. gordon liddy,

nobody here but us porcelain chickens