ODE TO MY MALE IDOLS

Fred Astaire

He always tumbles Ginger
by granting her grace
He saves the day, the show, the world
in under 90 minutes
and always in the same tuxedo.

That receding hairline ... that jaw!
That jaw, that cannot form a solid note,
with which he sings anyway,
in quiet broken precision.
He is so thin. Squashed flat

by the volcanic pressure of time.
He is drawn, and driven, and spun
out as far as the spool can go.
He is so absurdly thin,
for such immensity

and such vast shoes.

Ladies (After Charles Bukowski)

Let's not pretend that this is some hustle,
Henry Higgins.

Let's not say this is Bacchanalian,
“animal” --

even leopards with silk-black skins
mating between huge green jungle leaves
know the stakes.

Our skin may be mustard, and
underfed – still

there is blood in your wine.

Even your mother,

your mother, Henry Higgins,

has known callousness.