Because I never would fell the giant
I offered him candy.
I offered him the latest returns
from our recent municipal elections.
And as the candidates of giants
always win,
he was smugly satisfied.
I offered him fur shoes,
a cloud in which to be absorbed
and float above the fences
with his smirking giant friends.
I only asked that he leave us alone
with our dog hair forests
and their sexy puckered skins,
with our floppy little matchboxes
in which at night we sleep,
on which by day we protest.
© Mary Donnelly
's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Iowa Review, The Hat, Open City, Crowd, 5AM, and Hunger Mountain. She is Co-Executive Director of the "Reading Between A and B" poetry series in New York City and teaches poetry through Gotham Writers' Workshop.
