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Across the floor flits the mechanical toy,
fit for a king of several centuries back.
A little circus horse with real white hair.
His eyes are glossy black.
He bears a little dancer on his back.
She stands upon her toes and turns and turns.
A slanting spray of artificial roses
is stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice.
Above her head she poses
another spray of artificial roses.
His mane and tail are straight from Chirico.
He has a formal, melancholy soul.
He feels her pink toes dangle toward his back
along the little pole
that pierces both her body and her soul
and goes through his, and reappears below,
under his belly, as a big tin key.
He canters three steps, then he makes a bow,
canters again, bows on one knee,
canters, then clicks and stops, and looks at me.
The dancer, by this time, has turned her back.
He is the more intelligent by far.
Facing each other rather desperately—
his eye is like a star—
we stare and say, "Well, we have come this far."
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Copyright © 2003-2008 Gunnar Bengtsson, Poetry Connection. All Rights Reserved.
I enjoyed reading this poem with my sister and mom. It reminds me of my favorite childhood toy which was a genie doll in a bottle with little accessories. But this poem also appeals to me because I'm a ballet dancer. As a child, I would play pretend games where I would ride horses etc. This peom is inspiring, i feel that i could write a similar poem inspired by Elizabeth Bishop and Cirque D'Hiver.
Jessica from United States