Post-Oscar Masked Ball 2009
Haute couture dragons spew smoke.
A huge boar snorts, then unhoofs his snout of coke.
Flasks pass—each with double-jointed
levered caps. It all feels
so World War One.
Then a pocket goes crazy disco.
:Yes, all the plays do have nice homosexuals, but the musicals are nice
:Gimlet...Gin’s the new Vodka. And lime...
:Every bistro, though, fried frisée. And drizzled drastic reductions!
:Poodles are in again and still trimmed like hedges.
a tray retreats.
But the vibe changed.
Nixon was the first to notice.
Then Missus Claus.
Einstein couldn’t, K-holed,
but a Mario Brother burped Yup.
Unrolling like sod toward them.
Or like a memory
of the seventies
flipping flat at their feet.
And from the fog
They stumbled in
with the rest
Princess Diana is a mess
above the Marquis de Sade’s smashed forehead.
No, no, she says—
King Tutankhamun seemed squeamish, or scared,--
I’m stuffed, wiping her chin. Really stuffered.
O, May I
call you Tut?
Precision-licking one last tidbit:
Regardless do call me Di,--