©Sushanna Ellington, 2014

©Sushanna Ellington, 2014

Click HERE to HEAR the poet

 

Order her dry, with a twist.

This dirtiest of dames—all bones and guts—
Matters not so much to readers of Vanity Fair
Than to followers of Page Six.
She has no idea how much remains
In her trust
Nor does she know where she sits
Along a distant branch to the Tree of Life.

In the dark, her flirty giggles still seduce.
But does anyone really believe she is capable of a romp
(Were it offered)?

Swigging absinthe and laudanum from Chanel vials,
She receives soirée guests with bare-chested confidence
In rose drawstring pants,
Wheezing.

Her words work like flint.
Phrases strike blows.
Hammer against anvil
Sparks fly
And she is reconfigured

Like a flame desperate for oxygen

She amuses us with stories of her tumbledown childhood
And a role call of not-so-gilded associations with
Rakish beaus: the mad tobacco baron,
The boorish newly moneyed arms broker,
His sphinx-like bisexual cousin,
And the packs of vane hellhounds
That gnaw and howl at one another–
A veritable Who’s Who of Bohemian Grove.

Sad wilting ingénue
It’s always “Here is Margot”
Rather than “There you are”.

Indeed, it is true:
She has always thought herself better than her betters.
Really though, her bravado hardly counts
When accessorized with an oxygen tank.

 

©Sushanna Ellington, 2014

Sushanna Ellington has moved from her residence at the nexus of art, education, and human rights to an architectural glass studio where she putties and details windows.  Her street cred as an artist in her own right, BAWP fellow (1981) and Fulbright scholar are not diminished by her happy return to her blue collar roots. Sushanna can be reached atruhevahshi108@gmail.com.

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