The gorilla fits his finger
around Fay Wray with care.
She pounds that thing
with high fists.
Frantic surf.
Spotlights pan from the wings.
White palms
leap from
the cottony dark.
Congas throb
their blue diminuendo.
An innuendo
only some
bottom of the ocean
blues and us
deaf darkies, us
punchdrunk old contenders
can remember.
