Movie Centurions

passersby nudged shoulders, urged iPod mates
to quench their listening, to wake up
and notice.

aluminum glowed red in the sun, its wicked
temperature busting elbow joints, the men
inside backing for art.

the red carpet rolled, some celebs mocked
each other, but the Centaurs stood tall
in their baking juice, the crock-pot effect
braising muscles, sinews.

Joli, Deneuve, Rampling, each to each
striding first, no brothers to kiss,
but miles of red coaxing them to seats.

How sweet to be embroiled in love and lust,
the big screen’s exploits mimicked by mimes,
each camera poised to recall tidbits,
chocolate smudges on Joli’s lips, her
smile wanton, her hot thoughts thinking
of poor Africans baking in tropical sunshine.