Brigitte Bardot, walking her dogs
& cheers go up as the dogs stroll:
Medusa glances at her dusty hand mirror;
on the set, ****** checks his stage gun:
don't want any mistakes, he smirks;
oh, please just shoot me, she sighs:
days later, the Riviera is blue as ever,
cool surf lapping at her green feet; ****** gone
back to the States to promote some
traveling exhibition or other | w/ his action
paintings displayed
on television | for first time:|
[she knew the blonde strand was not his]