Variations and Visions of a Journey into the Blonde
After David Lynch
It’s always the waitress that pours her thin life into coffee mugs.
Pretty Betty is in endless supply like a gift fresh off the boat.
Despite her kind keenness coffee high and dry will turn cold
as if it were the blood inside her veins that makes her a starlet.
Poor wannabe idol, in time fate will tip your spirit down a drain.
But first Adam, the director, loses the plot on the eve of the shoot
he has to take his cue from the other side of the stage curtain.
The leading lady is out of his hands as a cowboy tugs the harness.
Besides, the Red Carpet is soaked in ketchup of up-staged fruit.
He goes on regardless when Eve’s daughters find the wild side.
It’s a ninety minutes cross-country chase to the Academy Awards
through a celluloid wasteland where not even nature itself is real.
Gone the days of burning movie reels, now it’s just burning cash.
No espresso is too short, no cocktail too long to mangle the nerves
and guide the casting-crew on the journey into that blondest blonde.
Camilla Rhodes is no island but gained a place in the food chain.
She knows what matters is diamonds and a room painted in fame.
Why not adopt Rita Hayworth, who on paper was called Carmen?
Now a poster girl with papery skin and so never ages another day
still has a recyclable chic that during amnesia can fit any female.
After Rita incarnate gets ready and randy, only sex marks her spot,
but she too gathers her wrinkles and takes them to a plastic surgeon,
tucks her past behind those once green ears leaving but a tiny scar.
Rebecca del Rio sings her songs siren-style and prerecords her act
in case she drops dead when Betty finds the key to her voice box.
Even Betty can make her fortune if she removes her rivals and
at 69 AD Mulholland Drive, takes a shortcut to the top of the pile.
For those who can wait sweet success comes toxic as Saccharin.
But Betty stays a waitress, stands while waiting for the big thing
or big sleep beyond final cuts when fans are cooing ‘silenzio’.
The Queen’s Cobwebs
Where now cobwebs take over each step of your way
cold surfaces and sharp reflections sparkled like ice.
It made me skid as if on parquets polished with wax
from local bees that gave the house its solemn scent.
I never thought it would be me to sting your nose
with bleach, disturb your memories with a broom.
Queen of cleanliness, soap and bicarbonate of soda.
when did I forgot the words to those childhood songs?
When did oblivion start to stultify your scouring pad
and each minute weaken the grit of your fortitude?
As I brush those cobwebs I find a childlike smile,
close up it’s hundred years wider than second guessing.
I sweep those cobwebs gently as if they were the glue
between you and me, what was and could have been.