ON THE FORECOURT OF THE STARS
Mama Mia! What a voice!
Her depth of emotion carries the show.
Cast of friends slow burn the audience.
Shimmy of stars with sensual overtures.
Mama Mia! My eyes fill with tears.
My granddaughter’s resonance reaches the rafters.
In overalls, flashy jumper, robe, and evening gown.
Inevitabilis, her handprints and footprints
on the forecourt of the stars.
Theater in her veins! Mama Mia! What passion!
She hits the high notes, with dolorous countenance.
Her range displayed through high school years:
comical timing in Mean Girls & Hairspray.
Bit parts were jumping stones. Her theater group
allowed her one performance, as The Wardrobe,
singing opera in Beauty and the Beast. On sides,
older performers, The Candlestick and Mrs. Potts,
gave her adulating applause.
Mama Mia! Grandparents are proud!
Samuel Potts was more in love today than ever before
he would have thought this impossible yesterday
but every day his new bride brought more joy than the day before
Be our guest! Be our guest!
Put our service to the test.
Disney’s Beauty and the Beast
FIRST TIME AT THE FOX THEATER
Red velvet rolled ‘round this li’l girl of mine.
She’d shine with hungry smile at the stars.
Her highness’ knees gripped at intermission.
She courts no delay of the parting curtain.
The beast, his furry ears and growl, furrow
the brow of the kindergarten princess.
Mrs. Potts, a sibling, will summon
a minor stage, to “Be our guest…”
Back in time, before the infant’s curtain call
my firstborn granddaughter’s royally spoiled.
8/25/2021
We hid in the pig sty the other side of the path
That edges a cess-pool crossed by a little
Wooden bridge where the run-off from the cow
Shed passes just beneath, ahead the gate
To farm front door accross the well kept grass
I was not yet six.
I know because we left the farm
When I had reached that age.
The sty, breeze block built with rusting roof
Was where we met in secret, my older brother
And I, with two girls from Guston Elms,
A little down the lane. Felicity was the older one,
Though I can't now remember the other
Sister's name. One day we dropped
Our pants to squat and watch,
To see who could do a poo.
Though we pushed and strained and egged
Each other on, not one of us could do one.
Older, it might have been a bit obscene.
But we were only curious kids
Just starting to explore (not really even friends)
And we were well before that coming age
When fig leaves need to cover shame.
CLEM POTTS AND THE MOON
not a pleasant sound
combining potts with the moon,
but, farm girls had learned
clem potts, in his rustic way,
was quite the village dreamer
lord of the haystack,
when the field was night-flooded,
the cows all asleep,
was he crooning his love theme -
clem potts, wily moon-schemer
her name, clara june
was the prettiest filly
with clem all aswoon
she’d met clem potts at the fair
where he’d won the ‘dog-eat’ fest
forty chili dogs
the last one nearly come up
he could still taste it
the beans, the hot tomatoes
belch without puke, the test
and, by god, he’d won,
had staved off hurl tornado
stored the big rumble
that churning away inside
mixed with green bile and the rest
he was quoting keats -
the moon-streaked straw in her hair -
thinking not those chili dogs,
about to brush clara’s cheek,
bent on a roll in the hay
clem said, “i love you.”
lord when lips formed the last word
clem’s gut did a flip
and the poor young clara june
turned blue from the blast, then gray
If your name is Potts I must apologize, so too if Clara June.