On the Last Magic Act

I watched a magic man stuff ten scarves in a hat,
with one fisted hand tied behind his hidden back.
He bowed and scraped and winked and smiled;
the crowd all yelled and screamed, antsy and riled.

He topped his head with the stuffed bowler cap
and shoed around the stage, tap tap tap tap.
Stopping only to cuff his hands and feet together,
he now hopped into straps of taut brown leather.

A lovely girl then put him in a tall water tank
and to the glassy clear bottom he promptly sank.
He fought the chains and cuffs bravely enough,
but picking the locks proved simply too tough.

We filed away from the stage, sad and stunned,
not knowing if we should ask for a full ticket refund.
For it turns out, after all, he was no great magician,
but rather just a retired marching band musician.

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