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"She"

I

She's leaving home
no cash, no plans, no return ticket
only a book of fairy-tales and a comb
silently closing behind her a wicket
so her family will be calmly snoring
when she's catching a freight.
If her skirt is too short, if the rain is pouring
she doesn't care, she's just afraid to be late.
Everyone will miss her in town
her loud ugly laugh, heart-shaped face
chatty manner, demeanour of a clown
her lack of manners, wit and grace
but they will miss her as no one for sure.
In a minute she'll hear a whistle-blow
and she'll start her magical mystery tour
and how or where she is no one will know.
A barman, a barber, a bum, a darter,
her parents and even their clay gnome
will ask, “Oh, where is our dear Polly Garter?”
And I'll say that she's leaving home.

II

She's coming home
in our local newspaper I've just heard the news
she had many roads to roam
sad should be her eyes and worn the shoes
she should kiss the toes of those who missed her
and let me write down all her tales
of gingerbread knights and wild boars,
lusty for virgins rattlesnakes and wise snails
and I will gift her my forgiveness
which she's not worthy but I'll grant it
I'll give her a golden chain for Christmas
that her absences from me won't permit
but she will still feed me with stories
all day and all of the night just talking
about that great wide open, foreign mores,
weasels that are skilful in mocking,
Harpies as timid as mice and Death
in a shabby cape picking his teeth
all those sunsets that took away her breath
and tales of her fidelity that of course is a myth.
Here is a cage I forged and will charter
which will become our shelter and dome.
For how long should I wait for my Polly Garter
Finally coming home?