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— Mary Jo Salter
Upon First Viewing Ball of Fire
Oh, Barbara Stanwyck, strike
My fancy, stoke my fire
With one fell stroke revoke my self control—
Come be the dancing mistress of my soul!
I’ll never meet your like
Now that most flicks require
Two topless shots for every minor role;
You couched your sex appeal
In what you could conceal,
A trick that wildly trumps
Modern celebutantes’.
Your smirk and three dry words could flood a room
With oomph! with awww! with vah-vah-voom!,
To quote those Forties chumps.
I guess a real man wants
The panoramic rack and nipple-zoom;
I want the wit, the verve,
And every subtle curve
Of your elaborate con-
versation. Steal my heart,
Toy with it, torch it; mesmerize me; come,
Your slim hips swinging like a pendulum;
And once—no, now—you’ve gone,
Let me play Krupa’s part,
Tapping “Drum Boogie” on a matchbox-drum
With (greatest of his tricks)
A pair of matchstick-sticks.
>> — Mary Jo Salter
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Author: The Best American Poetry
