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]