Selections from book

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.

The Backscratcher

Varnished stick, paralyzed hand,
curved fingers delighting

impossible-to-reach flesh
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.