Oz had no inkling,
never suspected the secret
love triangles manipulating
the lives of everyone –
munchkins, mayors, and monkeys,
lions, tigers, and bears,
talking trees, tin men, and dancing
scarecrows – no thoughts
of infidelity and pedophilia.

None would have guessed
that absolute power corrupts
absolutely in their own land,
that the seemingly most wise
could be driven by baser desires,
that witches weren’t good
or evil, just sexually wicked, vying
for the affections of a potentate
who could never be satisfied.

The great man himself,
if ever a wonderful wiz,
made adoring Glinda put out
gossip about the Wicked Witch,
the spurned woman, burned
once he lost his beer goggles,
newly drunk on a youthful vision
in ruby slippers, a step too far
outside the safety of Kansas.

He thought to have young Dorothy
get rid of his ex, then melt her
with his touch, see the farm girl give in
and eagerly click her heels
apart, quickly spiriting her away
to his private chambers. But
Glinda, jealous, saw the wretched
curtain of lies, set the dogs upon him,
saw him fly from justice,
and sent her competition home.