The Last of the Silver Screen Goddesses

She shouldn’t be real,
Nothing of flesh and blood
Tied to the mundane
Hemmed in by bills
The victim of sweaty pawings,
Bad pick up lines that drop clumsy
Things to be tripped over
No, this is not where she belongs
Among us mortals.

She was born to silver
Twenty feet high, gleaming
A creature of light
Flickering out from the movie palaces
A goddess of shadow and gleam
Beauty that is only possible
In the dreams of Hollywood
Venus for a new mythology
The last thing your grateful eyes see.

How can she be on a sidewalk
When she should be Marylin over a subway grate
Or teaching us all how to whistle
Sultry, all charcoal and smolder
Stepping down from the screen,
Out of time, regal, towering
A searing emblem
Of style, desire, and grace.

It shouldn’t be possible,
Yet there she is, leaning against the bar
Daring anyone to approach
There is death in her kiss,
Tigress hunting behind forest thick lashes
Of all the gin joints in all the world
This devastation in dress and heels
Passes by and we all crumble
Like old film put to flame.

I very, very rarely write about anyone I know, but this was inspired by a lady named Monique, the last of the matinee silver screen goddesses


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: