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-gla**
Saw his face in everyone