Dorothy Surrenders Jessy Randall

Scarecrow #1

He is rooted in that spot, like a tree.
If he only had a brain, he could
come down from there
and call me on the telephone

or perhaps take the subway downtown
and get a haircut.

Instead, he remains in that field,
alone, no brain, no heart, no courage,
no magic slippers or witch’s broom.
I am barefoot, chasing him around,
running and running, unable to catch him
even though he does not move.

And the sun falls, and it’s pitch dark,
and I lie down in the cornfield
and wish that he would come find me,
even lacking all his important organs.
I need him to scare my crows away.

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