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Butlers.

Rhett was no butler,
Nor am I,
But I am
Enthralled by

Movies that show butlers
Bustling & butling
Within huge mansions
Thronged

With mirrored hallways,
Intoxicated guests,
Evening-gowned dowagers
With busts

Slightly larger than Rhode Island,
Men in tuxedos--
All with splendid manners,
Knowing do's

& don'ts of silverware,
How to close a deal,
Or select French wine.

How real,
How very real
The rich are; their children
Have at least 4 names
& depend

Upon nannies or maids
To give them
Anything they want
To satisfy their every whim.

The ordinary world
Is raw
With Danger, so we
Beg to fight their wars,

Grind their steel,
Obey their laws, worship inheritance.
Within their iron gates,
I do my song & dance,

Thinking of my old man,
His money worries,
His ulcers churning overtime,
His need to curry

With the Boss.
A roof over our heads,
Food on the table--
Whatever we had

Cost more than we could afford.
Every appliance, every car
Secondhand.
But we were workers.

Hard workers with Greek pride
& Irish pleasures,
Yet, no matter how hard we tried,
Rest assured,

We never would be as real
As those others,
Those shadows in well-lit movies,
Waited on by butlers.
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Author:Phillips, Louis
Publication:Atlanta Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2011
Words:199
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