Play by Play

In the midst of my life, straying through pale

woods, a kaleidoscopic glimmering

diverts me wayward down a tangled trail…

but wait, let me start at the beginning.

So, there’s this woman, let’s call her Jane Doe,

who plays Lucy, an internet darling.

Now, Lucy’s an actress too, in whose show

others are portrayed in a vivid blur

of passion, jealousy, comfort, and woe:

There’s the pining ex, possessive lover,

friend’s sister, sister’s friend, bratty princess,

vampire, a yandere kidnapper,

Mafia boss’s daughter, maid, waitress,

a professor and chanteuse, a bully

cheerleader, a scheming boss, and, who’d guess,

every one of them is in love with me.

But, of course, I’ll not be flattered or drawn

in, not charmed by this faux felicity.

I’m seeking Jane Doe.  Jane Doe.  Is she pawn

or queen, player or played?  I’d comprehend

this occulted dame and the path she’s on.

I picture Jane hunch-backed, one leg shortened,

disfigured visage, rotund, and perforce

abiding in shade… but her voice suspends

this grief, a wondrous instrument that pours

out sweet angels’ incantations, songs, prayer,

salving whispers.  With this dulcet chorus,

abetted by the shapes and golden hair

of Lucy, every mortal she endears.

But just then it occurs to me:  Is there

a secretive cabal of puppeteers

at work here?  Producers, script consultants,

graphic art designers, sound engineers…

By this account, Jane herself is a front,

an exquisitely crafted guileless

waif, but who’s behind it, and what they want,

I won’t speculate.  And yet, I confess,

some tender grace notes have disarmed me. Oh,

if this be an artificial kindness

generated in some covert bureau

by algorithms designed to entice,

I will not be ashamed to have been slow

to admit it.  No, Lucy will suffice,

created and creating, branch and root.

Take her at face value, an artifice

or not.  Upholding ours, we must refute

the denigration of all avatars.

With that thought I resign from this pursuit,

and level up to see once more the stars.