Cate's Lipstick
Cate Blanchett is incandescing, having a red lipstick moment
She dissembles, is caught out, winces.
Her phone rings twice, and the camera pans to the low table
Some deep hues emerge there which foretell her downfall.
What should she do? There is light on a wall in strange patterns,
I don't like the look of her blouse, too racy, too blue.
Her teeth probably ache. I know she's acting, but does she feel
Culpable for this sad moon, this set of frames
This way we all respond? So we breathe in the lit-up air,
Remember some relative time, some infidelity
Or judgement to be made. The window is white:
In the shed there lingers some forgotten doll
Sitting waist high in a tin tub, tiny tears with drilled in holes
Peeing and crying. I am looking from far away,
At Cate from outer space, I am the lunar shift
Peering at dreams. The sprockets tear
The film flips and flaps, the audience groans
As though Cate has dropped through time -
Damn! I like her lipstick - that kiss-off colour!
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