Backstage View

Can we pull a rabbit out of the hat?
Where is Tink when we need her magic?
Forever young, forever healthy fairy dust.
Sadly, we see the tied-together scarves
stuffed up the pretender’s sleeve.
Musical chairs it’s not.
The chairs are disappearing too fast.

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Written for Quadrille Monday at dverse, the virtual pub for poets where today the prompt word is “magic.”  Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.