Failed Marriages of the Movie Stars

It’s the thing they do least well, after all—

harnessing their loves to the economic plow.

Observe how their heads incline, back-lit;

the long white fingers on the throat.

IT MUST HAVE BEEN MY FAULT. I FEEL NO GUILT.

MY ARM WAS BROKEN, SO WHAT.

THERE WAS NO TRAIL OF BROKEN HEARTS.

THINGS WENT SOUR, I GOT THE HELL OUT.

A pillowcase, by black-red stain, is spoiled.

A telephone purrs like breath beguiled.

Five pug dogs muster on terrace tiles,

in rigid gaze at the pigskin pyramid piled.

While a tiny woman, corporate,

slings her damages in a Liberty shawl.

The saloon car on gravel creaks a musicale.

The pensive papers hush as round sums sit.