Puppet Show

A few dead weeds
Dancing in the pane
Of my locked window

In the wind that switches
From east and west.
They’ve been rehearsing

All winter the same steps,
The same stupid smiles
On their bulbous heads.

Now the sun spotlights
Them, now the rain
Makes them take a bow.

I can’t get any peace
Until I catch the puppeteer
Who I suspect is a barefoot

Child playing hooky
From class when
The principal substitutes

For the free-spirited teacher.