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 the rabbit-run.

And threw away his looking-glass 

Saw his face in everyone.