Sure it was a put up job:
all those long-gowned
beauties suddenly in the front row,
and Ellen, all business
They didn’t tell me this was part of the job
vacuuming expertly
but impatiently
That’s a lot of skirt, Penelope
around their feet —
not exactly washing them,
but not so far off either —
a forgiveness of beauty
a ritual that every day
we humble ourselves to
and so we wallow
in the hallowed love
and rejoice in this
impossible reconcilliation
testosterone and estrogen
this cuddly commentator
the next Will Rogers
not by aphorism
but by example
and as she is
we wait
not for a lariat
but a hokey
wonderful dance.
[See my other blog, Platinum River, for a background article, “Ellen Degeneres”, and photos on this poem.]