. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

The Fandango

The next few poems come from a collection called the Regal Series, a group of poetry that spawned out of the days of my youth when I worked at the movie theater. That world became my muse for a short time, in the ebb and flow of everyday work, as drab and uninspiring as it was. This particular poem is about a commercial that played over and over again relentlessly above my head in the lobby - almost to the point of insanity. I had no choice but to puke this poem into life...

The Fandango took my baby.
The one with the infectious laughter.
The one who see’s movies to cry.
And the one who goes first with his girlfriend.

The Fandango know late when they see it.
I’ve seen the Fandango too –
Over and over…

The couple who bicker and chuckle.
The one with the curly black hair –
his emotions,
like a pack of cigarettes,
ride on his sleeve.
Over and over…

They are brown-bodied bag, square-headed creatures.
Their mouths span the length of their faces.
Their lips are red.
Their settings are ours,
But their features are not.

And they haunt me.
And they haunt me.
Oh God, they haunt me.

The Fandango.
The Fandango took my baby.
The Fandango…

What the hell are they?


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