HOT GIRL ON GIRL ACTION
I learn offstage that the waif
of a contortionist is only eighteen;
a culinary student, strangely
enough. She is amiss, all bones,
her shadow a snake-charming
sliver. Counting her ribs,
I feel my corset cut,
draw the line between physical
prowess and the brainy girl burlesque.
“What do you do?” she asks.
I fold a sonnet into my thigh high,
reply, “A phony vaudeville routine.
I’m a comedic poetess…”
She’s already stretching metatarsals
and counting on her bit’s
pièce de résistance et délicieuse.
Her limbs rearrange as impossibly
as a paper crane. She touches
her toes to the top of her shaved head,
and with a flash of her pearls,
she removes her skirt
with her teeth.
We undress to address you.
Ghazals burst my lace-veined garters,
vulgar villanelles cling to skin,
my Petrachean punchlines never
align with my stocking seams.
I know I can count
on a buccaneer with that front
row leer to bite a ballad from brassiere
every show I am limber enough
to write. I wonder if she’s always
highly aware of her ribs, worries
whether she’ll be able to extend
her leg entirely over her head tonight.
In some cultures, poetry is printed on money.
Let’s press our last dollars to her feet.
(Years ago I read this poem’s last
line in my sleep. I know it wasn’t
a book I’d published in that universe,
but I’ll flash it, even
if I’m sued in my dreams…)
+
version bjillion, 11/09. formerly of the title “Ladies’ Show,” and i used to perform it an awful lot, pre monologous burlesque poetessy routine. comes complete here with pictures of its most epic/interactive/with the contortioniste muse herself (evening glory, then of odd child uprising circusry)- performance (*salon gone wrong labor day08, photos by MY MOM who rules) whence eve/i kind of took each other’s velvet dresses off each other. we undressed to address you, etc. etc. this is a sneak peek of my MFA thesis manuscript, as a lot of old favourites people know from live shows and commission’d first drafts here have evolved into my manuscript work, yay!
also, welcome to part of my 2010 goal to share more art, be it old/new/whatev because being a miser of verse/the heart is lame. xo
(c) your poetess(s) jojo lazar
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