EITHER SIDE OF THE POND
‘Not good, guys … That was not good!’- sucked from
one of the American stormchasers
in a slow-moving SUV overtalking
their video of the big death-bringing
blackened twister a few miles off highway:
excited and savouring words which amounted
to ‘Good! Very good, guys, that’s our baby!’
Fat crocodile raindrops trickling down the
SUV’s darkening side window filmed through.
Now trickledown, over in Ireland, has made
a land where you can’t stop to pee any more,
everywhere newbuild staring, clad breezeblock
dwellings - thus far never used, many - grey
on green Irish grass every hundred EU
metres the four ways, sad grid, you may look.
Still, global assuagement was flowing
from events in England: the Royal Wedding.
During which since you’re not, come on, allowed
to lust after the bride, Kate’s sister became
they say a ‘national lust filter’. Well better
that than the bland two-timing, which back in
The States has lurched into double vision:
‘seeing’ two people at once. In Hollywood
no big matter. The actress’s challenge
was once to get to be a film star
without resorting to the casting couch.
Can you pull it off these days without
going down for the breast job, lip-flate, butt lift?
Formerly the Goldwyn casting nabob,
now the silver surgeon nose job. And
in Hollywood even the accredited
wimps are built. Weedy yet gym-toned, perfect teeth,
nobody gets it’s all wrong for loser/
druggy bit roles. Loose shirts, half-smiles at most,
are the fix. And still the follower shoals
hang in. Each tweet: abrupt shimmer flick
of realignment, as one. But we can
ask our friends to respect our Tarot
privacy at least. Don’t twist that mean card,
just pass your palm over OK? leave it flat.