What we’re seeing now is what we’re being made to see.
A little girl with plastic wings is playing infant dreams.
Her mother wearing larger wings shares in her fairy world
Embarrassed loving aunt, no wings, pretending valiantly.
As pretend fairies they have right to dance as they are doing
We push our grocery karts aside. Give them clear way.
On every face a smile. We need more of this fantasy.
Supposing though I told you that this seeming three year old
Also her Mum and Aunt are just as old as Man himself.
True fairies in a world that’s changed. No distant glades.
Eyes in the sky have seen to that. Where can they dance?
Where can they hide? The place must surely be right in plain sight.
Poe’s ‘Purloined Letter’ argues such and hence our supermarket
But their chronic need to dance gives them away.