Post-Oscar Ball, 2009 [John Emil Vincent]

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.

And then

:Yes, all the plays do have nice homosexuals, but the musicals are nice

homosexuals.

            :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.

 

Drinks arrive,--

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.

 Fog!

 Unrolling like sod toward them.

Or like a memory

of the seventies

flipping flat at their feet.

 

And from the fog

hellish beasts.

 

They stumbled in

with the rest 

for refills.

 

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

Your Majesty

call you Tut?

Precision-licking one last tidbit:

Regardless do call me Di,--

everybody does.

Comments

[Laura Orem]

Alas - my post-Oscar ball will be me falling asleep on the sofa in my sock-monkey pajamas.

[John Vincent]

If only I had sock-monkey pjs.

[Laura Orem]

There is that.