On polyethylene wheels
The Panavision locomotive
Slows to its carpet halt
A laser beam on gaffer marks the station.
Celluloid fuel chatters into the furnace lense
And something remarkable is happening
On the Aubusson plain.
The roped ghost of Mary Pickford
Frees herself from the rails
And rises, a silver halide wraith.
She looks behind her, sees her mark
And turning, now in close-up
Backs carefully and tactfully
Into the shimmering face of Meryl Streep.
31/4/2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem