TV Culture: What’s That Thing (poem)
What’s That Thing
The sidekick’s black Mustang swings a one-eighty
A name freezes action on the screen
We see him mouth a line and wave to somebody
The portly old-timer, too, swings in his desk chair
Phone to his left ear
Face always stuck here
Eyebrow arching, poised to scramble
Young hotshot bound to get into
His weekly fight or scrape
It takes a portion of the time, the choreography and the chase
The two-part story’s first half ends
The hero’s treacherous new girlfriend
Is the dealer’s, really. They have a complicated wish, his gang,
to steal a file, that a junkie from the street
could have got for him long since
by burglary, not seduction
And done the work for nothing
Nothing much
But this is TV, not life, so the hero flips the light
He says, “Julie”; she whirls, with a photo, 8 x 10
(a whim of the developer)
She says, “Rick, it’s not what you think.”
He says, “You lied to me, Julie.”
She drops the file, a gun is in her hand
She shoots, and the screen goes dim.
Now the doctor says he just can’t say
He shakes his head
The veteran private eye slips to the bedside
The actor lies there slack with parted lips
In the waning years of the golden age, his co-star often played
A hustler, or a pal, once or twice a second lead
He has to do the tears and prayer
It’s stirring
He might get an Emmy, but of course, it’s just a show
Not a movie of the week
What’s That Thing
BeeZeep
Crash
(2017, Stephanie Foster)
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