after Petula Clark on The Muppet Show


Giro Guy, my idyllic life guard, poised in his high

wooden throne, watches the idle whistle spin round

as he protects God’s body in bright ripe mango trunks.

His cocoa film sails off into a citrus-butter sun chantey.


I am a stray creature with an unreachable tomorrow.

He is a famed statue forbidden to be touched by buffs.

I glare at antler muscles of the glistening Brazilian sailor

glowing with an age of Discovery sweat in Disney magic.


My idol mesmerizes wild mandarin moose thoughts down-

town in self, sinking in saloon sand, chewing on objectified

driftwood chips, trying to understand unattainable language.

Naturally, intentionally, I fall to Runyonesque disbelief.


Timid, desperate, I ignite boss super nova out of proportion.

Papaya firecracker waves ricochet from my uppity cigarette,

yet go unnoticed as my fleshy ardor melts into layered mirage

& hazy smoke kisses a sole lanky cloud questioning lungful—


when will my hunk of war buck come down and save me?

    ** first published in Selcouth Magazine