The Trouble With Mimes

The Trouble With Mimes

The trouble with mimes is they
think they are somehow different
from the urban onlookers
going through the motions,
climbing an invisible ladder and
pulling on an infinite rope of air,
That their act is somehow novel.

I’d like to be a pigeon and see how
it all looks from the concrete, people
gathered on their lunch breaks,
checking their watches, amazed
at such exaggerated movements of
daily life, backed with intended
Silence but slathered with idle
Conversation and traffic whirring.

The trouble with mimes goes way
back and deep. Centuries of white
painted faces and gloved hands
simulate our absurdity and
capitalize on life’s monotony.
What would they say if they
could break character and
let the crowd have the truth?

“Holy shit, this ladder leads
to nowhere people. Make your
own damn invisible sandwiches
and get me out of this hot black
suit!” People gasping and shoving
change back into pockets, would
turn towards their destination, one
rung at a time.

-Lady Chavez

Poems Your Mother Warned You About

My Sunday Best

I knew he had never been to church,
maybe part of his appeal.
He had rebelled against something else.
I wanted to find out what drew
the corners of his mouth into a smirk
like mine.
He wanted to be saved.

In my best Sunday dress, I lay
on the floor in front of him,
legs spread like a hymnal.
He sat disappointed like
his only chance at redemption
had spread wings and flew out
of my vagina and out the door.

He slumped to the carpet in
defeat until he was tasting
the wine soaked wafer that
had rested on my tongue.
“God is an illusion” he heard
and he sank, reassured into
my Sunday best.

Lady Chavez