Celeste Drolle sets aside precious little time for writing, and her critics complain that it shows. Celeste shrugs this off, aims her TV remote, and tunes in another telenovela.
* * *
Time for writing or not, she rarely lacks for stories -- a trait, she points out, that she shares with other habitual liars. "Can you imagine if Dick Nixon had written fiction?" smiles Celeste: "I promise to tell the Half Truth, the Twisted Truth, and nothing resembling the Truth."
* * *
Pressed about the unlikely likeness of her publicity photo, she mumbles something inaudible about the British Museum, face lifts, and "what's a girl to do?"
* * *
In pursuit of her promise to write longer fiction one day, must her ravenous appetite for C movies, hush puppies and libidinous living be curtailed? "I have often worried that advancing age might trim my sails," muses Ms. Drolle. "Lordy, how mistaken can a body can be?"
on Dec. 10, 2011 :
My grandmother, Della, would have understood but little of this raucous poem. What she understood would have wrung an 'oh my' from her Southern Baptist lips. What's wrung from my lips is, "Dang, why didn't I think of that?"
This could bring a cult following in Humboldt and Mendocino Counties, where Kris no doubt got his original supply.
Keep it up, Celeste, let's have a poem about Father Time and one about the Easter Bunny.
(review of free book)