Tuesday poem #661 : Lisa McCabe : The Friendly Giant

 

 

Look up, waay up, the big black boot,
Friendly’s on the CBC,
the drawbridge drops across the moat,
you watch in rapt credulity 

then run to claim the rocking chair
and curl up by the cheery fire;
his little friends will meet you here,
heralded by lute and lyre. 

You catch your breath —this feels like home;
Friendly reads on afternoons
to Rusty Rooster and Jerome,
the jazzy cats and two raccoons. 

While you (for now) are not afraid;
the thing you fear is out of view,
yet gathers to a furtive shade
that keeps a steady eye on you. 

Paper stars dot paper sky,
paper cow jumps paper moon,
your little pals all wave goodbye
as Friendly pipes the closing tune; 

leaving you to brood upon
why it is you linger there
(the grown-up shows drone on and on
well after Friendly’s off the air) 

with a gnawing sense of doom —
how with its drink and Export A,
the dragon in the other room
will call to you to come and play. 

It takes a puff and files its nails,
it has no business but to wait;
you draw your sword— your courage fails,
you bang against the castle gate.

 

 

 

 

Lisa McCabe reads and writes in Chester, Nova Scotia. She has published poems and essays in a variety of print and online journals, including the Sewanee Review, THINK, Bad Lilies, Rat’s Ass Review, Ekphrastic Review, and the Dark Horse Magazine. She has been twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan