A movie star died a day or two ago She was 97. She would to say hello to my mother At evening musicals full of teenaged boys that I lusted after years ago She would wave and smile with sparkling eyes I’d look at mother “Why?” Amused, she would say softly “I don’t know!” We would giggle together A rare event
Mother was no chorine nor wardrobe mistress She did not peak in the 50s She did not dance with her husband under the moon at the Bel Air Bay Club Her daughter did not write a pop song that oddly charted She did not struggle to remain in the public’s imagination They had nothing in common but perhaps a lovely face and a skill at survival Mom could make her husband move her closer to Johnny on the dance floor. Whichever direction, Dad obliged.
They locked down that school today Warned by a rifle in a photo Of an unstable football pro
These women are dead now so none’s the wiser “When you’re a victim of bullying, an option is revenge." said the alumna. “Just a precaution,” replied the school.
Mother would have been 97 this year as well. Maybe they’ve met again, two streaks of illuminated emptiness Engaging with reservations Over fitting in and going insane Over the low self-regard in a champion or Being lost at sea.
Can’t get my head round the email “Help me get it right” “It’s why you do what you do” “What you do best” “This will wipe out the opposition” After much soul searching he took the role A fugitive who lives with an urban family An honest story that comments on our times Or an expensive risk? It’s a case in point I could tell you stories you couldn’t print.
A deal was made Much needed publicity This one can’t miss A sure fire winner Lavishly budgeted? Almost everything was shot at the ranch.... I Remember the poster in the foyer “The Goal of the assassin” “Two ****** hours” Initially the subject of media ridicule An eyesore trashed traded or hauled away Luckily fast forgotten It died a humiliating death