Wicked faeries gather at the racetrack
drinking champagne in a luxury box
while little mortals roast in the sun
on metal fold-up seats.

The faeries plan the next christening.
Malevola favors classic curses: ugliness,
thwarted love, long lasting comas.
Venala seeks a crueler gift.

Look, she says, how the mechanical rabbit
torments greyhounds who run in circles
for greedy gamblers—faster, faster,
until their dogged hearts explode.

Let us give this child the cruelty of the parent,
teacher, critic, boss, and gambler: a lifetime
of potential. A game she can never win.
A game that will make her sycophant and slave.

If we make her believe in perfection,
she will shackle her wagon to others’ approval.
Make her think she can win an impossible prize—
and tease her with honorable mentions.

The faeries watch the dogs run, sweating,
gasping as the metal hare smoothly glides ahead.
No one ever says you have now fulfilled
your potential because it can’t be done. Glasses clink!

The waitress keeps her wings inside her uniform.
This is her second job, for goodness doesn’t pay.
She urges her students to let the wagon careen in space
and let the dogs run wild in a foggy field.