Minstrel In The Gallery

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 therabbit-run
And threw away his looking-glass saw his face in everyone.