...Waiting for the Other Shoe ...

I… 
myself, 
hand deliver, 
to you, 
where you, 
“work,” 
red roses. 
I do so every day of the 
“work” week. 

Friday nights, I… present to you, a new, sparkling diamond ring, or, if not that, a pair of new sparkling diamond earrings. Or, if not that, a new sparkling diamond bracelet. Always Friday nights: a new sparkling diamond something

Saturday nights, I… present to you, a new, radiant golden necklace, or, if not that, a new, radiant golden watch, or, if not that, a new, radiant golden brooch. Always Saturday nights, a new radiant golden something

In my Hummer limousine, colored Day-Glo fuchsia, with the open-air hot tub, and always, with your preferred chauffeur, Jacobs Jacobsonzweigsberg (preferred because he has only one arm, is blind in one eye, lazy with the other; but more so because he’s an unabashed cracker of dirty jokes, a connoisseur of rare tuning fork timepieces, and an inveterate BASE jumper); yes, I escort you, any night you want, to the restaurants highest rated on Zagat’s Survey. And when we attend the Lyric Opera, I always have front row seats for you. And when you want to stay home, I prepare for you a feast fit for the likes of King Robert Baratheon, Augustus Gloop, and Jabba the Hutt. 

Whatever excursion you desire to embark upon, my Learjet 75 Liberty is fueled and its pilot is standing by. We’ll go to Paris, when you say—the very minute you say—“I feel like Paris.” Or, if you say, “I feel like Tokyo,” we’ll go to Tokyo. Or, when you say, “I’ve a taste for Antarctica,” there is no hesitation.

Every ball gown, cocktail dress, party dress, muumuu, miniskirt, sundress, every sari, every kimono; every pair of pumps, high heels, stiletto heels, Cuban heels, Mary Janes, every pair of glass slippers, every pair of ruby slippers you point at—they are yours. 

Every puppy or kitty-cat that makes you go “ohh” is made your puppy or kitty-cat. 

I, I, I, 
buy, 
for you, 
beach houses 
on every beach upon 
which you’ve ever sunbathed… 

I, I, I, 
buy, 
for you, 
cottages in the country, 
bungalows in the suburbs… 

I, I, I, 
buy, 
for you, 
villas; 
castles overlooking waterfalls... 
Wherever you point, 
I have them built— 
exactly where you point. 

You X mark the spot. 
Anywhere, in the world. 

We’ve loved made everywhere you’ve fantasized: upon each sarsen circle pillar of Stonehenge, strapped to the Eiffel Tower, atop the Great Sphinx of Giza, dangling from Borglum’s Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Roosevelt Mount Rushmore noses… 

And yet, 
            s t i l l 
                     I’m… 

18 November 2004 

Popular posts from this blog

Potted

Peekaboo?

Use The Hole