Yellow Brick Road
by Lauren Russell

1. "There’s no place like home," I said to the parti-colored paper cutter—

1. not the clip of efficient slicing over the ho-hum Republican Convention
2. talk radio splicing

1. but the agonized screech of too much cut (whether axed or scalpeled) and rust
2. like the tin man’s heart

1. when a furtively grown-up Dorothy with breasts bound beneath her
2. checkered frock
3. hands him a W-D 40 can

1. before the poppy fields of Oz (or shall we say Afghanistan), and the ruby
2. slippers keep clicking, the would-be wizard gesticulating

1. half-melted, only his hands and forearms
2. poking out
3. of the sand.