Thursday, September 25, 2014

Joan (Joan Rivers: 1933-2014)

She gagged with revulsion
as I gagged with laughter
this daughter of the Torah
our own Queen Esther
Lower East Side wise-ass-wit
bitchy-biting blurbs
“can we tawk?”
can you wawk-the-wawk
and endure this noo yawk
jive and jibes that pierce
the pride of pompous princes
and pimps a 1927 noo yawk
Yankee Murderers Row
of home runs scoring
with pin-prick precision
Red Carpet that heightened
the blushing celebs who
looked like tomato-heads
with no script to respond
to veiled and direct and
right-on fun observations
and double-entendres
at their expense
in their expensive garbs
a stchick became a trait
that characteristic retort
to questions direct and
begged and self deprecation
masking the confidence
to dole out and take
the rough trade of
caustic comedy
deceptive lies you told yourself
that Joan saw through and
power sawed through those
petty white lies and
grand illusions of importance.
I gag in revulsion on how she left us.