Peyton Place: A Haiku Soap Opera [excerpt]

David Trinidad

348

Just when you think you
can trust someone, they turn out
to be the Bad Seed.

349

I do not know which
to prefer: Shakespeare quote or
pillow fight after.

350

Stuffed bird and weirdo
behind desk—is Jack checking
into Bates Motel?

351

Rachel kidnaps the
baby, yes, but in preview
Betty and Rod kiss.

352

Something I learned long
ago, Connie: never turn
down a sedative.

353

Two policemen shoot
at and chase Chandler. All three
of them run like girls.

354

Leigh will one day win
Emmy, but not for losing
her mind on this show.

355

Here's Gena Rowlands,
Mrs. John Cassavetes,
much-needed fresh blood.

356

Relax, Rita won't
croak. Her weak heart will tick till
this soap gets canceled.

357

Jack escapes from jail
and takes off to do guest spots
on TV Westerns.

358

Whack! Nothing ends an
episode better than a
good slap in the face.

359

And nothing starts an
episode better than a
repeat of that slap.

360

"Again" (Fox standard)
is always playing at the
Colonial Inn.

361

Step right up, folks, and
witness Rod's imitation
of a barking seal.

362

This is just to say
Elliot ate an apple—
Golden Delicious.

Ode to Dusty Springfield

                    What makes
                     a voice
                     distinct?
                     What special
                     quality
                     makes it
                     indelible?
                     Yours is plaintive,
                     as any singer
                     of torch songs
                     must be,
                     yet endowed
                     with confidence,
                     and fully
                     in command.
                     Deep and
                     resonant,
                     a bit husky

David Trinidad

2018

The afterlife of fame

is dark
a neglected mansion

with vanishing court
rats in the empty pool

and antiquated actress
languishing

as ghost of her famous self
flickers in the projector’s beam

or framed in silver
haunts every room

Face unrecognizable?
Name forgotten?

O float me to Oblivion
in my swan bed

with my bandaged wrists
and doors shorn of locks

with swirl of my cigarette smoke
and glitter of my jewels

and silent flutter
of my weightless tulle

David Trinidad

2016

One of 100

To be one such one—for one night only.
To be singled out
for this brief distinction

and fly first class (on miles),
wear black tie, walk red carpet.
To be met with smiles

and camera-flash
and then be asked,
by a stringer,
“Who are you?”

“A poet? What’s it
like to be that?”

One only exists
when being photographed.
One fawns all over
the aged activist—
infirm but famous.
One hungers for
the elusive hors d’oeuvres.

David Trinidad

2016

Poems

Peyton Place: A Haiku Soap Opera [excerpt]

More by this poet

Ode to Dusty Springfield

The afterlife of fame

One of 100

Poems

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Peyton Place: A Haiku Soap Opera [excerpt]

More by this poet

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