The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the Smiling faces. He met the gazes --- observed the spaces between the Old men's cackle. He brewed a song of love and hatred --- oblique Suggestions --- and he waited. He polarized the pumpkin-eaters --- static-humming Panel-beaters --- freshly day-glow'd factory cheaters (salaried and collar-scrubbing). He titillated men-of-action --- belly warming, hands Still rubbing on the parts they never mention. He pacified the nappy-suffering, infant-bleating One-line jokers --- t.v. documentary makers (overfed and undertakers). Sunday paper backgammon players --- family-scarred And women-haters. Then he called the band down to the stage and he Looked at all the friends he'd made. The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the Rabbit-run. And threw away his looking-glass - saw his face in Everyone.
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