He Shuffles in His Wizard’s Hat
I expect his
slippers are just visible
beneath a maroon
cloak, festooned
with stars
and half-moons, those ones
drawn ever-so-quickly
like he was taught
when small,
how to scrawl five points
and he never
even has to lift his pen.
Then again,
he might use ‘Spirograph’,
‘Etcha
Sketch’, something even further past.
Just
visible, picture it; the purple cloak
and poking
out in cones, like steam irons,
soft slipper
shuffles. He’s a long beard
scribbled in
HB grey or maybe 2B
or not; he
could use a bit of white fleck
here or
there; crayoned twigs off trees
become very
magic wands to correct
mistakes: he’s
good with Tippex.
Drawn pointing
telescopes at night,
wobbly lines,
rubbings out, paper scores,
smudges and
thumb prints, it’s not right,
he’s gone
over and over it, but flawed,
the first
line didn’t quite meet its maker
and ink all over pockets of his purple robe.
On
newsprint, no parchment, no papyrus;
he squints
to see, twists lens, adjusts,
then spotted, it sits in badly drawn hands,
squarks and
all wizards now commands;
he may have drawn
a bloody Harry Potter
for all the
sense it makes, have planned
this as a month of slippering Dumbledore.
In the next
frame? His telescope put away
back in its
box, smiling enthroned he’s sat,
right in closing
this and closing that,
because he
shuffles in his Wizard’s hat.
Nice😍🙏
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