Call Me Priscilla Ray: a Love Poem for Eric
I composed the following poem while relaxing in my colonial garden. I want to share it with you all. For I am in love.
"Call Me Priscilla"
In your absence I
try
to make this work
but
the thought of you
in Melos mouthing words
looking upon the skin of
other women
with those eyes
it
just kills me. God...
damn it!
This is preposterous.
I
am in serious need
of
a martini.
In your absence I
try
to make this work
but
the thought of you
in Melos mouthing words
looking upon the skin of
other women
with those eyes
it
just kills me. God...
damn it!
This is preposterous.
I
am in serious need
of
a martini.
posted by Gwen Hammond @ 1:30 PM
2 Comments:
At 12:20 PM,
Richard Quick, Millionaire said…
Oh, for heaven's sake. I thought you were off your rocker that time you had the REAL Elvis exhumed for a late night ceremony and wedding night consummation at Graceland... (If you had but called me I could have told you post-mortem marriages never work out... and are in fact not valid.) But POETRY! You have really gone off the deep end this time.
You don't love this character any more than you loved the Paul Lynde impersonator in Reno, that Richard Simmons impersonator in Newark, or that Dom DeLouise impersonator in Miami (correction: that was actual Dom DeLouise). Can't you see that you just feel guilty for getting the real King addicted to foie gras, and force feeding him until his esophagus exploded? You've got to move on, Gwen, just like Dr. Freud and Dr. Jung both told you. Sure, your vendetta was a tad extreme, but he never should have ridiculed your peanut butter and banana sandwiches in front of all those people. How would you know the bananas go on the bottom. He could've just turned the goddamn thing over. He got what he deserved, and you've got to get past that. There's no way to go back and unring that bell, as you learned after the exhumation.
Gwenny (OK, OK, Priscilla) can you please give Hymie another chance? A few glitches are to be expected, but he's out of Beta now. Silicon and electronics may never be the same as real flesh and bones, but he'll never age, die, argue OR sue your ass off.
Think about it. And lay off the poetry... I mean it.
Richard Quick, Esq.
Friend, attorney, advisor
At 11:24 AM,
Gwen Hammond said…
God, Richard. I feel like an idiot liberal, here...existing in a fog of delusion. Thank you for helping me save face once again.
As usual, you are RIGHT. The banana sandwiches: he just didn't appreciate my post-post-modern approach to culinary presentation. Long creamy phallic things should ALWAYS be on top.
Thank you again, dear. See you on your veranda.
Gwen
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