George Clooney

          

 

Driving west from the beach

it could have been George Clooney

head and shoulders draped

backwards over a chaise,

napping and sunning at the pool,

if it weren’t for the bus stop bench

identifying itself as such with a sign

 

and the Winn-Dixie cart

full of worldly possessions

sitting along-side instead

of the coaster glass top table,

the morning bloody-Mary

and the designer umbrella.

 

George could most certainly

look this content,

snoring, feet up, as though

he had a Golden Globe

and owed himself this decadence,

if it weren’t for the holes

in the muddied boots,

the grease stains on the cargo shorts

and the distinct need of a shave.

 

It seemed poignant that

the high-end condos

just behind George most assuredly

looked on the same sun, clouds

and blue sky as well as

the same choreographed “v” of geese

flying north overhead

as his siesta stop-over.

3 comments

  1. Hi Craig

    What a well crafted poem with nuance, observant detail and sharp premise! Indeed it could have been George Clooney except for

    “if it weren’t for the bus stop bench

    identifying itself as such with a sign

    and the Winn-Dixie cart

    full of worldly possessions

    sitting along-side instead”

    I really like the way you build the comparison here besides someone way down on their luck and the famous celebrity. A clever use of words and images, allow us to see George’s counterpart, his poor doppleganger overshadowed by those beach side condo and sun. I enjoyed this poem and thank you for posting it!

    My Best,
    Wendy

    Like

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