Idol-handed Telewisdom: "That's with a 'W,' George!"

by Faye Hickman Wren


            The way she first entered the stage,

            I’ll never forget that look,

            Grabbed 'em by the balls, she did and often, never once

            Letting go


            Naughty spice, like any good spreadable

            --she’d be the first to admit it
             gone that far 

            skipped her fellow pin-up babes 
            stepped into a bag burning on her doorsteps
            tossed a tease or two, equal-opportunist that she is,

            here and there
            across the net or to the Rockettes--

            Nothing kinky, no felicities and not a single fetish

            (that would prove to be Monday night’s surprise)

            --microphones and lead-
            dreds over makeovers,
            the politics of easybake ovens and the like
             No, these were never at issue. . . . 
            What was?

            That she was so much more
            more than a personality
            a personality packing a smart mouth

            She backed the stars

            Baked against the sky

            Polished  the pro in the professional she had learned to be

            She had it all.

            Full waist.

            Mothering breasts, comfort hips the size of a Sultan’s sedan

            --and just about as fast--

            the gift of a voice come-lately
            a bite and wit, maybe a whip
            that tugged at your heartstrings, held her audience for
            miles around,
            all the way to the Big White House on the Hill 

            she resonated,
            sympathetic vibrations I know felt

            alongside an undeserved reputation that others,
            newbees in diapers, just like their father

            follow her forever

            snuffing her candles before they were lit 

            shoveling the stars onto her porch
             into her own narrow corner of the sky

            as another idol tumbled, felled
            from idolatry by idiocy


            That's when I finally found the remote
            tucked, knee-high

            a macramé cushion on my couch
            changed channels

Idol-handed Telewisdom: "That's with a 'W,' George!" by Faye Hickman Wren

© Copyright 2001. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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