The Piñata

They came to see the piñata.
The piñata hung from a crane
and swayed with a swollen gut
of newspaper and paste.
They listened as the piñata creaked
like a dock in choppy waters.
They began to shout themselves to the brink.
And standing there, watching the piñata,
it seemed almost possible
to forget the search that had continued
since Christmas, was it this past
or the one before?
Parks, rivers, cupboards, drawers,
the bent light beneath their decks —
what had they found?
And standing there, the piñata swaying,
they were gathered and ready
with hammers, bats, knives, and chains
to smash and tear until the piñata’s shanks
could be nipped by dogs.
Though when the first seam split,
some resorted to doubling over
and pawing the grass.
While others continued taking swings,
the halved ones moved with new insistence,
their hands sweeping over the ground
like visible winds.