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Poem for an Actress By Kirby Wright You're still on location in London? Tonight, I will dine with your headshot. I prop you up against a wine glass Then anchor your bottom with a spoon. As usual, you sit at the head of the table. You appear to be in a rare mood-- Blonde hair drowning your shoulders, Lips full and parted. Eyebrows plucked To form the hooks of question marks. Candlelight tickles your visage. I serve our favorite-- duck a l'orange, wild rice, Steamed artichokes. Perhaps you recall Having me in the half moon of August While bulbs of night-blooming cereus Popped for the hungry tongues of Moths. I have dreamt of us walking A road in a town of cobblestones. The only ones we knew were ourselves. There were bogs, thatched roofs, The scent of lamb and cabbage Cooking in an oven. I notice you signed Your headshot "Love." The word is the Child of a pen ruled by indifference. I will Measure us with a yardstick after creme de Menthe. I am sure we are shorter than the truth. |
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Document last modified on: 02/10/2004