Where Have You Gone To Godzilla by BJ Neblett

…memories are realities ghosts…

                                    BJN

 

Where Have You Gone To Godzilla?

by BJ Neblett

© BJ Neblett

 

Where have you gone to Godzilla?

Are there no more toy

tanks to stomp,

children to scare?

On a burning Saturday afternoon

indecisive leather-clad doors swing freely

their oval panes frosted with the fingerprints of time,

just two bits a head to enter the tunnel of dreams.

Yellow brick carpet

worn smooth as grand mom’s mohair sofa

lumbers into the inky darkness,

bruised seat cushions

and jealous velvet ropes

smack of popcorn and promises and disinfectant.

A three-story shroud yawns gracefully

and the billboard-sized screen materializes,

celluloid church commences.

 

Where have you gone to Godzilla?

Have you retreated to your

octagon metal crypt for good?

White T-shirt and blue jeans

the uniform of the faithful,

red Converse hi-tops

and pink Keds

become one with the floor

awash in a sea of Pepsi cement.

Coiled springs bloom like May flowers

out of the tired recliners

where me and freckled Amy Johnson

and two penny Mary Jane

form a sweet ménage-a-trios

in the center of the sixth row.

 

War, protests, and hatred

dance on the silver wall

a muddled juxtaposition

of newsreel

and preview of things to come.

Speechless Tom and Jerry

do what comes naturally

to a cartoon cat and mouse

with frying pan and anvil.

Amy’s elbow has found my ribs

and my hand retreats to her shoulder.

Hazel star filtered eyes

and 70-millimeter reverie

take wing with discerning dialogue

and butterfly kisses.

 

Oh, where have you gone to Godzilla?

Rampaging terror in black and white

psychedelic clown in Technicolor,

there is no joy in Erewhon tonight

the king of monsters

has gone dark,

the last reel flapping your dirge.

Widescreen Cinemascope illusions

have flickered into letterboxed reality.