Angelyne
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gravel crunching caught my senses, glimpse fishtailing ‘round the corner low slung machine, a ‘vette, pink or purple like the purple eggs in Easter baskets, construction gravel spilling onto the pavement, machine whining by caught my imagined blur of blond hair and bared breasts reflecting afternoon sun through the ‘vette’s windscreen stopping abruptly, California: State plates “Angelyne” purring, a dark SUV stopped short for the machine to reverse, move over one slot and stop purring, the SUV moves into the first slot a blue haired companion in jeans, midriff sporting sun tattooed back otherwise nondescript like the nondescript, dark SUV she peers in the machine’s window then walks off into the Coco:place we just left the three of us grinned at each other lusty grins all eyes all senses now alert unfolding, our wives’ attention of envy or disgust or derision attending three old men, their failing eyes, minds remembering, reminiscing all senses alert unfolding waiting with balking camera that won’t tell the right day or some such nonsense; trunk pops open with anticipation lips drool in hopes of realization image conjured by a sense of blond hair and alabaster breasts, a hot-pink fringy puff that momentarily appeared and disappeared as quickly, she returned, the companion, hands empty, clandestine meeting or confirmation unknown but to them; we waited, scenario unfolding hoping against hope which we harbor most slowly in the hot afternoon sun unfolding, each to remember it differently as we reminisce over our Coronas high over the Pacific waves with kites pulling surfers in oppsite directions; slowly, perspiration of anticipation the sun baking bald heads burned red three days later, baking senses of curiosity and imagination, slowly unfolding, a glance away and already standing,pulling down her skirt so short and so tight those bared legs and body clad blond hair and skin tight dress colored like all the eggs in an Easter basket, she walks to the trunk, opens it and bends into our delight too far away for more than imagination rummaging for something; my curiosity was the better, armed with working camera I walked between them asking to take her picture with the ‘vette-- “my agent would be mad, give him my card” they both fumble in bags my eyes fumble, looking deeply between breasts ballooning out of the Easter colored dress and between them to her navel skittering between them and her and her companion the impressions faster than true witness the card produces much less than my camera would ever capture impressions of the small trunk full of pink and clear plastic bags of the 60’s and her face alabaster with accentuated lips and eyes and lashes and expression alabaster breasts, blue veined and bulging against the Easter basket colored dress, solid and unmoving blue veined lily white with her navel peeking out a short distance below now exaggerated over my Corona:place, respecting her “no picture”, I backed away in disappointment and incredulous and now, disillusioned by what safe
distance now shattered I return to my quizzical mates panting to witness truth, garnering courage, aim, shoot, she covers her face and turns again into the trunk for safety of an umbrella covering her face, colored gores clashing with the short Easter colored dress and the spike-healed legs. and her nondescript companion with sun
tattooed back and dark clothes plastic lady of the 60’s with her purple colored ‘vette :p> and her skin tight dress in Easter colors and her lily white face accentuated and lily white breasts veined blue, and navel between in plastic, Barbie doll from the past The future is past and another lady in the grim shadows beckoning behind the telescreen behind the eyes behind the dull gray existence of the outer party and a corrupted, rotten system crumbling to pieces someday distance succumbs to the old woman’s wrinkles, dry and crumbly but luscious, defiant action “down with big brother” reveling in capitulation betraying true love but surviving to become the inner party and die, cruel judgment, sad desperate clown still performing after the circus left, wet dreams from a distance as we all dream of winning that lotto or of that once-in-a-lifetime experience which happened to me once and a while, fantasy becomes reality becomes shattered illusions corrupted by my own hand or lacking virtue the Christ in colors of an Easter basket full of eggs acts of the chanting apostles “save yourself from this corrupt generation” but there are so many generations from which we and those before must be saved, how can one save so many, she reflects more than one held in time by artistry and perfumes and “no pictures please” determination blamed upon some dreamed agent as generations pass and wrinkles must dry and crumble as wrinkles do unwantingly, for lack of a better, into webs woven into our faces and lies about ourselves to others as well as ourselves, a geisha doll, all made up figurine of alabaster, features exaggerated by the background the artistry, the robes, the bound feet held high, lustful intentions; the card in glorious colors shows Angelyne recumbent, blond, boastful breasted Easter egg purple; flipped “to join the Angelyne fan club send $20.00 to….” I hold tightly between fingers, displaying to my Corona:place> :City> partners boasting my conquest of the illusions we all harbor in our boastful breasts, we smirk and laugh and cause joke of my Angelyne then pause to realize the joke, mirrored, for surely she is the clown the circus passed by, sadly to understand we all are passing by wrinkled and dry and crumbly, oh Angelyne my Angelyne, lovely Angelyne my heart cries out for you, we all will be wrinkled and dry and crumbly driving purple machines, hiding our faces in blue veins, crunching gravel. |
© April, 2002