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He doesn’t have to
do anything but show up.
Fame does that for you.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here - mere chance or choice?
He tours in a case
like an aged Ken, “mint in box”
they’d say on eBay.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
A schoolteacher in
a barrel did what no man
could - lived to tell it.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
Geeks transformed into
leading men stop hearts, but then
revert back next day.
It’s said women swoon
at his rallies, yet his wife
once called him stinky.
It’s fun to see what
it’s like and then go back to
being nobody.
Like a hick I tilt my
head to see the top and
ponder tossed pennies.
I am the dull one, struck
mute by accomplishment
what I do, nothing.
Headgear gone wild I
tip my hat to idiots
who have flipped their lids.
Reclaiming the word,
she grabs the bitch by the horns
and makes us all proud.
With all this trash talk
even the winner comes out
smelling like garbage.
Could Cameron Diaz
maybe have done her hair? That
ponytail so wrong.
Anyone who makes
Ryan Seacrest sweat deserves
a special Oscar.
They walk the carpet.
We eat takeout Chinese and
scream for our favorites.
So hungry but the
dress fits stumble past photogs
smile stop nod pose smile.
Dreams of Oscars like
sugarplums dance in their heads.
Hollywood’s Christmas.
Her face fronted a
movement, a magazine. My
mind’s jaw drops in awe.
Crashed. Met Tailies. Then
Others. Hatch blew up. Kate caged.
Got Lost about there.
Andy Williams. Bing
Crosby. John Lennon. Jose
Feliciano.
Brainiac Barack
cheerleader Oprah campaign.
A Disney moment.
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