Fractured Fairytale
Pan to garden bower for lovers
gilded with jasmine.
Cut to palace ballroom.
Cue the scene of a fairytale ending.
Unfortunately, happy-ever-after
is the element missing.
This stage is set for
a slow-motion train wreck.
Prince Charming snores,
reverted to frog form.
Comatose, he slides
from throne to floor
after bong hits, martinis.
Cinderella enables,
hides his empties,
manufactures excuses.
She cleans up after accidents,
maintains appearances,
afraid to tip off the servants.
Their performance grinds on.
An admission of truth
Booth Bunny
Mac World, New York City, 1997
I share the Roseland lobby
with a bearded transsexual
pedaling an over-sized tricycle.
We greet guests attending
the software firm’s gala.
S/he rides in a circle,
wears glitter, feathered angel wings,
a ballerina’s white tutu.
I dispense drink tickets,
vouchers for palm readings,
mock tattoos, photo ops
with the band.
Instructed to circulate,
I hand out boxer shorts
emblazoned with the company’s logo,
a “Size Does Matter” slogan.
I’m 47, on my fifth shot
and last nerve,
contemplate how far
I’ve fallen.
Camille
Verite
She sits at the bar, scans her
surroundings,
scents a few single men.
Ignoring the young and obvious,
she chooses a secretive lover,
incognito,
checking him out from the shadows.
Every player understands the rules:
previous and existing claims are void.
She wants him, obsesses.
Tilting her head, she sweeps streaked
hair
behind an ear, offers submission.
He approaches; she provides a gambit,
licks the martini glass rim.
Silently, he presses his lips,
hard, against her neck,
claims what he knows he owns,
teeth nibbling soft, waiting flesh.
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