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Cameo

Rita B. Rose

Homage to
Sir Alfred Hitchcock
Roll camera—
Sound—
Action!
A dark silhouette
crosses the cinematic screen
legendary film director
Alfred Hitchcock bids
Good Evening
Hitchcock’s artistic lens
serves as his canvas
painted are visual pictures like no other
Hitchcock tantalizes our emotions
In every shot we sense
his suspenseful presence
the thrill in every frame
he is adamant   we come along
we are Spellbound,
willing voyeurs,
whether you are Strangers on a Train
Young and Innocent   Mrs. and Mrs. Smith
Rebecca   Marnie   or have Trouble with Harry
You will shriek—murder—when Hitchcock
whips you into a Frenzy
So, join me now, delight at being
the Peeping Toms, you are,
as we share the 50 mm lens:
New to Manhattan, you are The Lodger
in a high-rise, across the courtyard
you see apartment Number Seventeen
each night, a voluptuous
hair-coiled blonde
walks about in her negligee,
but tonight, a rotund shadow of a man
is shouting; hands in motion,
he delivers a death blow
your fantasy gal goes down
The Lady Vanishes
bloody binoculars flung,
they dangle from the Rear Window
by the Torn Curtain,
the Psycho is in her apartment
instinct dictates, phone police,
recover evidence—
Being a skilled cragsman, you secure a Rope
and scale her building wall
descending, you are aware you may Sabotage
the investigation,
you swing North by Northwest
Vertigo takes hold...
Has there been an error in judgement?
Cops will collar you—prime suspect number one!
Suspicion casts a Shadow of a Doubt
you have become The Wrong Man!
But please, enough with the diatribe
retrieve the blood-stained glasses,
the villain’s prints are on them!
Dangling above the street, you see a man
waiting to use the phone booth, another man
carries a violin, he missed the bus,
across the avenue, a green neon sign
flashes—
Its outline is reminiscent of the Saboteur,
your mind is playing tricks—
This is no time to get Stage Fright,
there is no Lifeboat coming for you!
You rappel, half-way there you reason...
grab the bloody Binoculars!
You find an Unlocked Window
a man is drinking champagne
another, in a black coat, smokes a cigarette
you Rope down
The Birds fly overhead
they take a dump on your skull,
on The Man Who Knew Too Much!
Again, you descend,
you must procure the blasted binoculars!
Rappelling, you wonder, was this a Family Plot?
Is the sexy blonde a Foreign Correspondent?
Or is she an opportunist—worse—a spy?
Snatched are the binoculars,
your feet hit the pavement
You walk The 39 Steps to the building front
Policeman, Officer MacGuffin aims...shoots
you
g
o
d
o
w
n
dropped
are the blood-spattered binoculars
life fleets—you have seconds to ponder—
was the blonde really worth it?

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