#showbusiness
She first noticed Antonio when he stepped out of a mob,
holding roses for her;
a bloom for every head in the rabble.
She took him on--
her personal little rooster.
He made love to her as if in timelapse--
an ardent insect skittering adoringly along her body.
She could have kept him in a jar, or a desk drawer.
The war came, then.
The sun went off-kilter, tilting drunkenly into the further reaches of the canals.
What use, anymore, for filmmakers
or their gaudy chattering treasures wearing ridiculous gowns,
smiling automatically at the invading armies?
Her last film was a dark comedy
released with subtitles and smuggled to the West
only to languish in a storage locker,
unwatched,
as round and unheeded as the lessons of history
in its circular tin container.
Her rooster was never meant for difficult times,
and he became tubercular--
within a month, he drifted through the bedroom curtains like a ghost,
and took to living with a flock of crows
as their underling,
but yet, he was flying, wasn't he?
She missed Antonio
and the competition of auditions and readings.
Feeling ****** and out of sorts, she joined the underground.
Wearing berets and trench coats, they taught her to handle a rifle
and to shoot fat-faced officials through the heart.
It was her ingenue days all over again.
Antonio and the now-faded diva met again after the war,
on a single occasion,
at a hotel in Suwanee, Georgia.
She ordered gin through a heavy accent,
and he flipped his good wing, tiredly.
After a silence, they both spoke at once--
"Do you remember..." they began, and then laughed.
It was, by then, the only thing to say,
and it was enough.
_______
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 12:22 PM UTC
Curtains up, lights and sparks
Golden tickets, rising stars
Race to the finish, flashing lights
Adrenaline rush, crazy nights
End of the stanza, quick pitstop
Let's start again take it from the top
Road to addiction, highway to hell
Lined with paparazzi, celebrity's spell
Life in the fast lane, no matter the race
Chemical crutches, to keep the pace
Stay behind to catch, when the curtain's down
And the makeup off - tears of the clown
Tragic comedy - this business we've made
The perfect picture on endless parade
Life imitates art, art imitates life
And the life of the artiste burns out in the fight.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
Shuffle along, show your ticket, be strong
while investing in spectacle
staid and respectable.
Nu Yawhk can never be wrong.
Shuffle along, bang a simian gong.
Life resembles a Broadway show;
plebes and patricians owe
apples to Empire’s King Kong.
Death joins the throng. In bananas your song
is re-peeled and re-stated
while apes are berated;
the zoo-keeper’s waving. So long.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC