The Real Thing
By thom_austin
Wed, 15 Sep 2004
- 446 reads
3. The Real Thing
Helen is caught on camera, in a lean
Pose at an upper Window. Locks undone
Unreachably real to be seen
By the green shadowed boys who stop their fun.
She waves of her own volition, A pen is handed.
White faced pages grin and bearly
Find themselves, awkwardly branded
Self-confessed by her post-F delivery,
Her dropped leaves, turn over on my modest brow
As I count the cost of the publication jump
They fall swooning from the damn sell show
Down at Helen's heel wearing proper Academy pump
Leaves of sharp verse reel from her grasp, of Invention:
Lines for sober poets, doctored with Tart Convention.
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