Bubbleville Square

A Poem by Ranger Kessel

were fishes with spots. Horns made of rubber and cakes filled with air. Pots stuffed with crumpets and confetti filled the air. Plaid painted knickers and birds with no hair.

Everything, it seemed, in Bubbleville Square, amongst the balloons fitted fair. Even the monkeys had clean socks to wear.

But something, it seemed, wasn’t quite right. The kittens in mittens meowed from their curls. The porridge was steamed, but felt so awfully tight. Even the mime spoke only in twirls.

With his pleated red pants and fancy neck crew, the king paced in circles and scores. He piped on his flute a minstrel turned blue. He wore out a hole in his fresh painted floors.

He blew out a bubble, a hundred feet square. It rose over town above the mime’s heads. Up in the clouds above the moon’s stare. Above the kittens in curls, tucked in their beds.

A great while passed and the king wore his frown. He babbled in tongues and never made sense. He ate only soup and never sat down. He dripped with his feet by the white water fence.

One day, just before noon, the bubble bounced back and landed in town. Out in the square where mice played with balls. It carried the queen in her perfect plaid dress and glitter sea crown. The king clicked his heels and threw out his frown.

He broke in the bubble and cupped the queen’s hands. The mimes danced with kittens and they let out their roar. Monkeys played drums in the harpsichord bands. The birds with no hair so wanted more.

The fishes with spots let out their stripes. Horns made of rubber and cakes stuffed with care. Pots stuffed with crumpets and confetti everywhere. Plaid painted knickers and rubber waist pipes.

Everything, it seemed, in Bubbleville Square, had been righted just right. Bubbleville Square, falls quite apart when the queen is away. Morning, noon, and even at night. More than in ways that a mime might venture to say.