Ma the Movie Star

In the movies you are a mastermind

who shames your sons into crime, beats the sissy

out of them, breaks Herman’s fiddle over

your knee, wipes blood from the white of your blouse.

In the movies your husband is so soft

he worries about finishing pie, fears

you’ll divorce him the quick way. Everything

squeals when it dies, you say. Oh Ma, dare I

address you like the words scrolling on screen?

Mother to the Underworld, Cunning Evil

Genius, why are the people in the theatre

laughing at this pretense—this portrait?

Why am I laughing, too?