carved to be the perfect child.
(See how he bends so easily to our will?
Moves only as we deem appropriate.)
How we all applaud the performance
and appreciate not the puppet
but the one who pulls his strings.
Pinocchio, backstage dreams
of finding scissors
from pocket or purse)
of taking their sharp surgical edge
to remove himself from captivity.
Pinocchio, homicidal toy on the edge
would creak (barefoot
unmindful of splinters) across floorboards
sharp steel gleaming in moonlight
(he'd wait for a moonlit night
mostly for effect)
find Gepetto asleep in bed
gray hair silvery in the shine
leap onto his chest
scream mere inches away from his
pale old man's face
"I'm not your bitch anymore,
Papa! I got no strings on me."
Pinochio, long-nosed growing
longer hope becoming
as he realizes he doesn't
in the blue fairy anymore (did he really
ever?) and anyway
the opportunity would be lost
because he's more than sure
only real boys would have the balls
to cut themselves free.