There's A Fish Frying At The Green House

There's a fish frying at The Green House
mayonnaise and ungar's herring
cooling in the empty frigidair
swimming in a sea of kosher salt
& passed up sperm
Ten thousand marlboro men
walk a death march
down the stickley steps
From the boudoir
the heiress screams for her shoes
the dogs reply the king is dead

There's a fish frying at The Green House
The cook cackles furiously
cracking blood spotted quail eggs
against the window pain
spraying the queens olive oil
in a zig zag across a bed of basil and thyme
5th avenue wood nymphs dance
in a drug induced haze
to the laboring psalm of
"The Way You Look Tonight"
while Julia Child nods her head
The dogs scream Je suis decu!

There's a fish frying at The Green House
The heir is reading Dr. Seuss
his rosy cheeks filled with laced chocolate
and milk of magnesia
his elbows resting
against the history of creation
burn marks and all
No one tells it like it is
he mumbles under his lips
This is not a free country
This is not the home of my youth
The dogs howl in agreement

There's a fish frying at The Green House
love letters have arrived
dripping with hungarian sweat
smelling of payback and pogrom
with no return address
a pornographic telegram
posted to the cook
is tucked inside the pocket
of the Los Angeles Times crossword
The heiress rubs
mediterranean oil on to her scalp
& ushers the the postman on his way
The dogs attack

There's a fish frying at The Green House
The guests have arrived
bearing crisp vanilla stationary
notarized and carbon copied
by the government of world peace
The china looks lovely
The cook is tired
The heiress is beautiful
The heir is starving
The dogs are dead

There's a fish frying at The Green House