Granddad said he saw
Jean Harlow once
While making deliveries
to the studio lot
and there she was
he said
real hot
just there
and looking my way
and I was struck dumb
my lips stiffened
my eyes were glued
and as she walked by
there was that glint
of unhappiness
that caught my eye
and I wanted
to reach out
a hand and touch
the goddess
of my dreams
but then she was gone
and the delivery made
I made my way
out of the lot
the truck heading
for the gates
the whole panoramic view
behind me
and she
Jean Harlow
back there somewhere
waiting for the next shot
and there was me
leaving that slice
of hell or heaven
the fantasy lot
and Granddad
sitting by the fire
his gaze elsewhere
maybe thinking
of Harlow
just beyond
his sad stare
some where.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem