Carin Perron's Poetry: "The Magician After Hours"

The Magician
After Hours

Great Scott! he leaps,
all purple feet and velvet pants,
as echoing elastic rainbows bound
from his shoulders to his waist

(and such a waste,
his most elaborately vertical self,
billboarded over
by a conspiracy of buttons)

Well, Hello! he shouts, from the magnificent
convexities and concavities of his face,
as his penny-dreadful grin slips,
breathtakingly playful as a guillotine
lurching inexorably down --

and he never stops reverberating

Pity, he's such a magician --

even after hours, nobody sees his hands