Mike TV. . .
could be me
time wasting
an in- your-face screen. . .

Violet Beauregard. . .
a restless chomping
of the teeth–
well, gum is not
my cup of tea,
but I do fancy
the transfer
of identity
would not be very hard. . .

Veruka Salt
well I’m not loaded
nor quite so
but I may be spoilt
in a somewhat sweeter way–
a bit more sugar coated,
to mellow out the rude display,
but still to the degree
I really ought
bring my fool imperiousness
to a screeching halt. . .

Augustus Gloop–
although I could forego
the two-hand scoop
into the sticky candy spotted mushroom,
or the drinking
from the chocolate river
in an unseemly stoop,
my mother sometimes told me
I was just like the poem’s Goop,
quite the grave charge
that might send me
to plop down
with Augustus
in the soup.

And then the question does arise
how do I rate
compared to Charlie?
Good, poor, wee Charlie Bucket,
who hit a very lucky jackpot
with his golden ticket?
Would I behave
and be quite brave,
own up when I did not?
And, for that,
earn the chance
to run the store,
to fill crazy Willy Wonka’s shoes,
who had hair
so wild and curly?
Or would I fail to pass that test,
and, to boot,
be kicked out early?

Of these sundry
I could be any, all, or none–

Destiny hangs on
not just who you are,
but also what you do,
so no one knows
where any of us
is going to stand,
when all is said and done.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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