When Veronica Lake Died Today
by Bill Yarrow
Nothing slapped him full in the face.
Nothing salacious was said behind his back.
He labored no specter in the web of his eyes.
He was ambitionless, made so by the wind.
When Veronica Lake died today of hepatitis,
he didn't blink an eye or crook a finger to his nose
but remained noiseless, aloof, inert: waiting
for the familiar commissioned sound of his heart.
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Author's Note
This poem appeared in Berkeley Poets Cooperative in 1982.
Other stories by Bill Yarrow
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lovely, bill--the ending, musical and sad.
ah, veronica--the light of her hair
lovely, bill--the ending, musical and sad.
ah, veronica--the light of her hair
Lake's performance in Sullivan's Travels is burned into my brain. Nice piece, Bill. I agree with Gary. The ending has its own beauty. Nicely done.
Wonderful selection of words--each hand-picked--that capture a feeling so well. Nice.
You've proved the Micro adage, "Brevity creates intensity." I can see Veronica with blond hair draped over her left eye. Nice tribute to an icon. *