Oz has lost its magic;
the emerald has grown dull
and the Wicked Witch seems somehow
less than terrifying.
Ruby slippers
no longer fit my feet,
and I think the tin man had it set
before the Wizard gave him
a heart;
at least that way he could not feel.

I stopped craving chocolate
– with no offence to Mr. Willy Wonka –
because the sweetness
has turned sour on my tongue
and the magic of childlike wonder
dissolved like sugar.

I turned into a cynic
the way Cinderella’s dress turned to rags
the moment the clock struck midnight.

I turned into a realist
when I watched a man I knew as Prince Charming
save me from my dragons
only to sweep a more conventional princess
off her feet.

And what do you know?
Her feet actually do fit
into ruby slippers.


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