Jenna on the Mat
by Hezekiah Allen Taylor
Her only outlook: a dusty ceiling in the motel that day;
Her score could get her into films, if only she would play.
He "died" and "died" and "died" again;
she could not say the same,
A pool of sticky leftovers, though, said Jenna knew the game.
A straggling few break into films, star with Peter North: the scant
Who cling to the faint ideals of liposuction and silicon implants;
Now I'm not saying hers are real, or even a good imitation
But Lord knows those two enhanced little globes get plenty of visitation.
She's been many characters: firefighter, piratess, courtesan.
Just think of how unrecognizable she'd be if she kept her clothes on.
Perhaps that strikes the fans as grim, but really check the stats here
You're watching her in a darkened room with JD and some flat beer.
If she approached you in a crowded bar, you'd stand there in wonderment
But early the next morning, friend, I don't think you could stand the
She's meant to be worshipped from afar, through the buzzing screen
You may think you're really all that, too, but you'd never make the
The rumble from a thousand throats, the heaves, the lusty yells;
They echo through the alley now; wherever they will sell.
You hear it on the mountainside, and inside your lonely flat.
For Jenna, lovely Jenna, is bouncing on the mat.
Inspired by "Casey at the Bat," by Ernest
Lawrence Thayer, the full text of which can be found at http://www.poets.org/poems/poems.cfm?prmID=1338.
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