CASIE
FEDUKOVICH
Short Chains
Barbara Stanwyck just wanted
a little glamour;
In Babyface, thrown across white divans,
sweating
emeralds, sprouting mink,
she conjured a life
away from gray-brown
cloud of Philadelphia, hard
hands of fat men
in speakeasies. Cat-eyed, she slunk
through pearl and onyx
penthouses, Mr. Carter
(President, Bank of New York)
scuffing up rich oriental rugs in her frothy
wake,
begging for absolution from
age, high blood pressure, flaccidity.
Please Babyface, please.
But not Babyface,
not Barbara Stanwyck.
The power of her body
draped in satin,
razor jaw,
pyramids of cheekbones,
no apologies from shoulders
or breasts.
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