Poetry By
Brian Rowe
Published on: 11/6/2014
Sally
Everyone's favorite George dances onto the stage His suit black and chic, his hair hinting old age The microphone wobbles when he touches its spine The title card surfaces at the edge of the screen A hush extends over a room filled with envy The Best Supporting Actress remains to be seen "Good evening," he says, his face drenched in white light "It's time to hand out the first award of the night." I clench my sweaty fists, I bite down on my tongue I flash a sweet smile not bitter with defeat Even though I've lost at each show up to now Even though my rear end remains forever in the seat Fifty years and a fortnight my career has gone strong I've played nuns and moms and I've burst into song Since the sixties they've flocked to this radiant Field Watched me fly, and then fight, and be the best I can be They said yes to Norma, Edna, Mary and Aunt May They've said they like me, that they really, really like me But it's a new world, this sad fixation over youth No one cares my husband was shot by John Wilkes Booth They all turn to the starlet, with the lame pixie haircut With the bright eggshell eyes, with the grin of a whore So she sang and she starved and she died all dramatic I could sweep up her talent with a mop on the floor I gaze at Adams, Weaver, the still sexy Hunt A loss to them would be fine, none of them is a runt Steven gives me a wink, takes hold of my palm I glare at the skinny bitch who hasn't eaten all day George opens the envelope, tries his best to look shocked "Ladies and gentlemen, the Oscar goes to Anne Hathaway!" The camera zooms in, I let out a fake cheer I try not to sprint to the bar and chug a cold beer She heads up the stairs, and I pray that she trips She latches onto the statue, and I hope that it breaks When she waves to her husband, Ryan Gosling-lite I vow to grab that shiny gold, whatever it takes I'd leap up to the stage, pop her right in the face I'd stand there so proud to have won my third race But then: "Who I have to thank most is my hero, Sally." I sit up in my seat, as Anne turns to me, and says "You're stunning, sublime, you're the cream of the crop It's icons like you who make me strive for my best." As the applause overwhelms me, as they all tell me thanks From Sandra to Brad, to Cher and Tom Hanks I take in my surroundings, and I finally understand Through the clearest of mind, as much sense as can be Just how privileged I am, how so very blessed Because the people still like me, they really, really like me
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