Camera..... Action....Roll.... Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She was curled up on her mattress loosely covered by a sheet,
crimson rivers staining alabaster skin,
through French windows peeked a moon through thick Louisiana heat
marking out a most sardonic final grin.

Mean his manners and his stubbles as he barked a new command,
all assistants scurried gladly to and fro.
From the alley came the voice that rattled gravel and pure sand
flashing lights were just a part of this great show.

Tears of sadness fell to ground and mixed with blood on marble tiles
as the camera picked up a silent twitch,
when the boss put down his pipe and started scratching at his piles,
then announced that they had run into a glitch.

In the end it took a day before the scene recorded right,
they were tired of that little word named 'action'.
And the body had a fever from the hot and burning light
the director had to have his satisfaction.