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Dwarf
They don't shout the strongman
to make the tea
or ask the one of the glitter
girls to shovel the stable shit,
because of my foot
or three, lacking
in my stature, see.
Down, is is where you look
to catch my eyes, if
you should be thrown them
in any measure except
an anxiety to please.
Even feminists find me weak,
at their knees.
I wonder what my mother gawp'd when
she saw my runtness:
"Off to the circus with 'im!"
I expect, but can't be sure.
So, entertainment's in my bones,
as all the children know.
The clue is in the way I stare
as I sit, and bite the grit
bits in the snow.
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