It is wartime in Disneyland,
“Where Dreams Come True”
“The Happiest Place on Earth.”
Slogans provide no cover
From the hissing bullets,
The acrid wisps of smoke.
The crack of the shot
Turns Pluto’s honey day
To rusted iron.
A phalanx of colored shards shreds his canine skull,
Spewing metallic confetti out
From the holes into the sky.
Azure ads for summer getaways pour from his mouth.
Breathing has no reason anymore,
Except to whistle, “Fly the Friendly Skies.”
The melody enchants
Children on the midway
Hunting for Mickey Mouse.
They cheer the fireworks display of Pluto in decline
And rub their faces in the paisley puddles
Around the rides.
Mickey pumps an extra shot
Into the head of Psycho the Weasel,
Minnie’s old beau.
Thick brown mud oozes
From Psycho’s final wounds,
Slimy, like spit-out Gummy Bears.
“Free Bird” wafts from “It’s a Small World,”
Heroin is mixed in the ice cream;
Every war needs tribute.
Pluto’s memories of gristle and steak sauce
Burrow between the grains of sand
Under his splayed paws.
There is a lull in the firing.
Reality can’t cope with the spinning color wheel.
The festive hues settle into one metal-gray stain.
The children’s memories—
The colors, jingles,
Cordite smells—
Become black
Silent
Eternal
mgeisser
