Red Shuttleworth and Wolfie
Moon-bright silent grass:
George Washington, dreary night,
curls in the arms of his neighbor's wife,
sobs for less weight on his chest.
Soul of iron filings:
Andrew Jackson rips and burns
newspapers, They carry no warmth.
Bundles of stars on the backs of cattle:
his skin new-suit-itchy, Tom Mix
pulls the make-up girl close,
Who the hell says I'm wooden?
Baby oil lightly spread on baby-smooth skin:
Marilyn Monroe stands breakfast-naked
at a sixth floor Reno hotel window,
performs fifty perfect jumping jacks.
Scraped-from-the-hide meat in a fry pan:
Herbert Hoover, tired of Dust Bowl photographs,
yowls and bangs a Kodak gift camera
off his desk until called to tea.