Movie Extra in Central Park
Eager as an anxious child,
longing for discovery on the outdoor set—
I pray my crowd scene
will ignite my cinematic career
and explode me to stardom
as in the bygone glitz
of old Hollywood. Fat chance
of such sweet serendipity:
that dance with destiny
happens only to babes in sweaters
sipping sodas at drugstore fountains.
Undaunted, like a thoroughbred thespian,
I breathe redolent air
inside the emerald oasis
musing happily for the moment—
soon to give a pure offering of my art,
captured eternally by sacred celluloid
in the spilt second of an eye’s blink.
Varnished stick, paralyzed hand,
curved fingers delighting
without aid of polished nails.
Made by exploited Chinese workers,
sold by underpaid immigrants
to tourists perusing cheap stalls
on Mott Street. Faithful friend, you gloriously relieve
a never-ending, irritating itch
from shoulder blades soaked by beads of sweat,
souvenirs of my back-breaking job---
comforted by your pleasurable palm.
Copyright 2006 by Davidson Garrett
All Rights Reserved