FLY AWAY
(Ode to "The Silence of the Lambs")
Agent Starling, I presume
(sniffs)
O’ how I smell your stale perfume
You know what you remind me of
With your good bag, shoes so suave
You look just like a well-scrubbed rube
Awkward, simple, quite the boob
You’re not “real” FBI
I won’t even dignify
You’re questions, with my expertise
Dissect me, I think not, Clarice
Now tell me, what was your father, dear?
A cool miner, stunk of the lamp n’ gear?
That accent too? Pure West Virgina, see…
So hard to shed, so hard t’be
One life away from poor white trash
Good-length of bone n’ some panache
And oh, how the boys found you!
Tedious, sticky fumblings you can’t undue
While crying in your stale boudoirs
Must’ve left a lot of scares
Oh, agent Starling how you dreamed
Out your bedroom window schemed
Wished upon a twinkling star
Up above n’ o’ so far
The journey from that backwoods bend
Uncomplicated life transcend
T’reach the coveted golden ring
Swirling, sweating, trembling
Rocking the backseats of cars
Eyes a glazed upon your bars
T’break free, n’ shout “good-bye!”
All the way to the F. B. I.
Now fly away,
Fly,
fly,
fly…
in e†ernity,
Brazillia R. Kreep
© 2008
