Why Do We Dream of Dragons?

My friend the waitress talked to me
As we were waiting for the aging credit card machine
To give its verdict
As to the availability of my funds

(She’s very young, and nice –
She smiles at me and talks to me as though
I was someone near her age.
She’s also very talented, an artist)

She’s gradually painted all the walls
Of the Mandarin restaurant she works in nights
While taking college classes days

Her latest painting is of the characters
Of the Chinese zodiac, so called
With a rat, an ox, a tiger,
A rabbit, a snake, a horse,
A goat, a monkey, a rooster,
A dog, and a pig, all beautifully
Arrayed

I asked where the dragon was, and she said

I dream of dragons all the time
I think about them in the night
In worlds of distant fantasy
My mind, there, with their wings, takes flight

When I’m at home or school or here
When I am bored, or, when I’m not —
The world of dragons seems more real
To me, than the one I’ve actually got

The credit card machine spat out
It’s grudging acceptance of my loan
She looked away as she handed it me
To somewhere far away, alone

Why do we dream of dragons, sir?
And leave off only with regret?

To know we still have worlds to see;
And wings to use
That we have not used
Yet

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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