Lots of activity this morning. Posting my artwork. Reviewing the paintings and drawings makes me feel like I want to do some work.

I like to feel that someone is watching – somewhere, someone is looking and enjoying. Its a satisfying thought.

And here, finally, is my American Hustle poem!



Irving I

He is ramping up his comb-over

With lacquer and glue,

The mirror hard on his paunch and his suit

Settling into a statement of brusque

Critique, buttons

Pushed to the end of their tailoring.


He is attracting flak-like

Static from both women

The satin-coated blonde

Parading the lounge and

The scything redhead

Scaling up his scams.



Roslyn is raw energy encapsulated in

Housewifely prowls around

The spindly dining set

She is yes and no at the same time

Overshadowing the lamps and the wallpaper.

Sitting at the table

While the TV dinner catches

Fire in the microwave

Sparks blooming from the

Tiniest crease in the foil folded

Over a roast

She is juggling the flames

As if they were her nerves or

A feeling set to fire from sheer belligerence

Blistering the wall

And climbing into a cornice.


Your gift is a blaze of innovation – a

Trojan horse of technology and

She won’t have that science in her kitchen.



Your girlfriend, on the

Other hand is all

Twisting nerves and cleavage to the waist, composed

With steel and ambition,

Glossed over with life’s lessons

Stalking paradise in Blahniks and

Shaky on these new legs

An urban sophisticate with an

Ersatz English title

And plenty of sexual



Sydney & Richie

But the other man has taken her by surprise,

And she is vacillating

Between what is necessary, what is wanted

And what is real

Together they are storming the

One spare stall in the

Unisex bathroom,

Jumping the queue of wilted dancers.

Falling through the door, she is

Silhouetted against the back wall,

Still talking, her ass right out there. She’s going

From love to seduction to

Breaking a frame over his head

Fighting unfair with glass gouging a

Slap of crowsfeet while

Rivulets of blood are clouding his eyes.

No way is this over! I want to

Waltz you through

Disco’s last throes

And then we can end up


Tangled in a marriage

With no indictable offences.


Irving II

These last few weeks have been hell for him

The ladies room confrontation,

The sexy, expensive mess

He is overwhelmed again

In the corner of a hotel suite,

Falling backward from a car,

Tripping up a curb

Cowering near a door,

Scrambling for his heart pills.


Back in the denouement,

With step-child in tow,

Two survivors with newly minted

Domestic credentials,

Trundle into suburbia.








American Hustle II


2 thoughts on “American Hustle II

  1. Kim says:

    Amanda, the American hustle poem is sheer genius, I think. But doesn’t make me want to c the movie. Quite the contrary, let sleeping Yankee dogs lie,
    Xx kim

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