Sandra at the Sally

So — there I was
at the Salvation Army store
with Sandra Bernhard.

She had “Pretty Lady” snarls
coming out of every pore.
I stepped over into

the red tag specials
while she let rip a snorting rant
about the lack of opportunity

for whores these days. What is the point
of being a professional, she said,
with all these amateurs cluttering up

the trade? Her wig fell off then
and I recognized the face anew: someone
the television had featured, briefly,

perhaps a lottery winner or a fugitive
with a face once blurred for legal reasons
that stayed blurred afterward.

Sandra Bernhard, wherever you are,
I have hidden a vintage jacket in your size
in a box near the aisle of broken toasters.

Come soon, your doppelganger is moving toward the door,
and if she gets loose,
there’s no telling what will happen to you:

you might end up in a place
where nearly familiar faces thrill at first glance,
and just as quickly disappear into the crowd.

About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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