No Place Like Home

You really managed to be

the whole damn

Wizard of Oz cast without

even trying.

The Scarecrow —

if I only had a brain.

Baby, we know.

Not a thought in sight.

The Tin Man —

shiny on the outside,

hollow on the inside.

A clank with no crank.

The Cowardly Lion —

no explanation needed.

All that roaring, still scared

of your own shadow.

And of course,

the Wicked Witch.

Green with envy, riding

your broom of excuses,

sending your little flying

monkeys out to do your

dirty work.

But here’s the gag:

the second someone stops

fearing you, the second

somebody talks back?

You melt.

Whole puddle on the floor.

Not even a villain,

just mop water.

And you swear you’re the

Wizard? Please.

Pull back the curtain —

all I see is a man screaming

into a microphone,

hoping smoke and mirrors

will distract from the fact

that there’s nothing real

behind the noise.

Meanwhile, I’m Dorothy.

And the whole time,

I had the magic.

Click, click, gone.

There’s no place like home.

And home is

wherever you’re not.