“The Play”

ACT ONE              

            She lightens her brown hair        

                        He prefers blondes        

            She leaves family, drops friends      

                        He wants her to himself        

            She quits schools, leaves her job        

                        He cheats and she forgives        

ACT TWO         

 

            He demands exact replicas        

                        She produces an heir and a spare        

            He expects superiority        

                        She learns deceit and lies        

            He builds and buys a lifestyle        

                        She numbs herself with wine        

ACT THREE        

            A mansion filled with regrets        

                        Their marriage is a glossy veneer        

            Time spent in sun and sand       

                        Their love becomes a mirage        

            A picture of perfection       

                        Photoshop over Truth        

 

Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“A Watched Pot”

Water simmers   

on the edge of boiling   
Steam rises to the rim  
swirls with deceptive beauty 
a mist—that scalds and burns   

A few degrees more  

and turbulence erupts    
whirling into blistering instability   
Unrealized outrage   
that seethes and sputters   

A few degrees less   

and danger recedes—    
Gentling back into     
warmth and comfort   

Simmering again on the edge   

 

Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

“Gyros with My Heroes”

            For an entire week, my husband and I immersed ourselves into the Marvel Universe. The bold and brash Tony Stark swaggered through our living room. Thor, with “just the right amount of stupid” delighted us. Steve Rogers tugged at our hearts. We speculated about Natalia Romanova’s past and discussed the tie between her and Clint Barton. And through it all, we discussed the melancholy isolation of Bruce Banner. I have a particular fondness for these comic book heroes who exploded onto the screen during a rough period in our lives and continue to entertain us with their enormous adventures.

            Yesterday, our anticipation to view Avengers: Age of Ultron found us sitting in the theater extra early—the only way to get a good seat. Reality suspended, our world of unrest tucked into the background as we wallowed in mayhem and destruction Hollywood-style.

            Afterward, we headed for Papouli’s, our favorite Greek restaurant, and discussed our love of these fictional heroes with our gyros. Our lively conversation wound from the story line of the movie to the future exploits of these characters. We discussed the increasing tension between key characters and toyed with possible script twists and turns as the series moves forward.

            By the time I dipped my French fries into ketchup, we drifted into suppositions about what approach the DC World will have as a result of the success of the Marvel franchise. Will we see yet another rehashing of Batman? Or will the DC Comic leadership imitate their rivals and pull fans into an intricately woven narrative that doesn’t focus on one or two characters, but instead draws into the lives of the Justice League? Will their tactic of introducing audiences to the entire League all at once and following up with a Part Two escapade compare to Marvel’s build-up into the Avengers and all of their individual storylines?

            In the end, I suppose I’ll eventually find myself again smack in the center row of the theater enjoying the quests of each of these heroes.

Copyright 2015 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

   

                     

"Saturday in the Swing"

Saturday in the swing    

            serenaded with cicada song     

                        and the chuck-chuck-chuck      

                                    of chiding squirrels    

                                                I float    

                                    aimless—and appreciative    

                                                of quiet moments spent swaying    

My dog calls greeting to our neighbor    

            rolling her Rs like that old Ruffles commercial    

                        she’s a sentry    

                                    sniffing out lizards    

A breeze plays with my writing paper    

            dances the words among the shadows    

                        cast from sun and leaves    

                                    making me dizzy in the Texas heat    

A paw taps my knee   

            accompanied by a whine    

                        I’m abandoned    

                                    for central air    

Moisture collects      

            on the back of my neck    

                        on upper lip      

                                    around my hairline     

                                                behind my knees    

I inhale humidity    

            yet I linger    

                        savoring my Saturday in the swing    

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

"Hidden Feelings"

There are feelings here that can’t be hidden any longer.  

Forever trying to force them down, I find they’re growing stronger. 

Is this a tentative friendship, or the clumsy lover’s dreams?   

Am I experiencing love; is that what this confusion means?   

I’m lonely when you’re gone, and resigned when you are here   

because you’re always far away, even when you’re near.   

I can’t tell where desire ends and where the lovin’ starts.   

Is this what the fairy tales mean when one gives away one’s heart?  

I want to touch you softly, to talk with you and to share.   

I want to say a simple phrase, just “Darlin’ I do care.”   

I'm not asking for eternity; I’m just hoping for one day.    

For I need a chance to show to you the feelings I’ve hidden away. 

Copyright 1977 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman