by Carmen Mason
I. AMERICA: On TV
On David Susskind is a fat man in
a Kermit the Frog mask.
He is a hitman named Joey.
He is selling his new book.
He pivots back and forth
on the leather chair,
itchy, swirling his girth
while svelte David remains stiff
and asks slow, delicate questions.
Joey’s hands are big;
they karate the air as he
laments the death of
abortion and the organization.
He boasts of broads who beg to love him
once they learn his trade.
Junior High haughty
he’s 10 Qs wealthy
and recently acquitted.
“When you get old you get smart,
you don’t get stupid. I killed until
I didn’t anymore. I sleep
like a baby.”
Embarrassed, David
cuts to a commercial.
II: AMERICA: Katz’s on a Cold Sunday Morning
Sour, over-taxed waiters – their faces lined
with their own private histories – give out
tickets at the door to be punched and paid for later.
Ahead, long glass counters reflect salami, franks
stuffed derma, steaming sour kraut while
Miller’s High Life waits to join
soapy glasses that’ll kill the beer head.
More regulars come in walking slow to
balance their tea on rickety trays as
The New York Times slides from their armpits
and powder-faced women in long furs
and wide -wale slacks glide and slide
under chrome tables, pulling
glistening pelts close to their legs
as they sit.
Old weary signs along the walls still chantimg
“Send a salami to your boy in the Army”
and “Waiter Service Only” as more enter
while the waiter’s exclaiming “If they don’t have it ready
I’ll make it myself ! ” while the men slowly sitting,
their knockwurst thighs open in great V’s,
their socks moaning having been stuffed
into tight penny loafers.
Sunday revelers all
with mouths moving
ringed pinkies lifting
cloth napkins unfolding
while the black boy
and his three sisters
wait to be served.
III. AMERICA: Michael Jackson
Ignited by more than Pepsi
and lithe, fluorescent Diana
you cut out the thickness
of your nose and lips
mainline hormones
making baby-smooth again your face
choir-high your voice
and bejeweled in ebony
you kiss your blackness
your manness, your Michaelness goodbye
Donning glove and shield
you enter the arena
of eunuchs
to dance and prance
and split the air
with the purest denials
to Billie Jean, harem queen
and to all you would have you be something you are
never were
might have been.
Carmen Mason: “I have been writing poems and stories all my life, won a few prizes here and there, but most of my pieces have demanded to spill out in the middle of the night or while walking or driving! I have often pulled over just to scribble something I will get back to once I am home again! And if VOICES welcomes me I am very pleased!”