SIDEKICK
by Rikki Santer 

Sidekick
                             
you are monocle
you are lap dancer
you are cheeky sailor boy
you are lamb chopped sock
            chocolate spell
            sideways glance from hell
you are ghost terrorist
            shy ingenue
            personality in 60 seconds
you are knuckle headed
            sitcom irony
            wicked ears
                         like hovercrafts
you are winker/blinker
            swiveled noggin
            snarky set-up nodder
you are rod-armed
            foam-formed
            renegade raised eyebrows
you are punchlines hiccupped
            baby cries
            twisted talk
                         in twisted mouth
you are pick up, put down,
            bend, slump, shake
            or shoe-shined ballast
you are illusion
            delusion
            off-handed protrusion
you are anything that can talk
& you’ve got your eye on me

Dummies from Cinema Hell

Thorns nestle into furry eyebrows.  Utterances
muddy & frothy.  These malcontent

chupacabras lie in wait, the vent-doll’s recurring
argument—who needs who?

Begin in silence.  Professor Echo’s Nemo in
velvet-mouthed intertitles, thrown voices

beget criminal acts.  With caviar and lobster,
The Great Gabbo stuffs his German mouth,

while Otto hurls one-sided banter, his smashed face
the end of ruse.  Tables turn for The Great Vorelli,

strident & demonic, he doesn’t know how to be nice
to his toys, so irony stirs the old switcheroo—

boss into blockhead.  Mr. Scarface yearns to be master
of Gotham & gangster bullets, his poplar hands

quiver to get the gold.  Mr. Fats of sour harmonica, matching
sweaters, fresh slaughter, & he wants you to have

his wooden heart.  Behold these vigilante antagonists,
dead hummingbirds lodged into their jaws—

when they escape foreign hands forced up their asses, their
bloody jungles glisten with triumphant trajectories of id.     

Junior Open Mic
at the International Vent Haven Ventriloquist Convention

Limbs lie limp in nervous laps
waiting to defy gravity.  Throats

tremble to animate bodies into birdsongs
of delight & Delphic vapors.  Mouths pop

like zippers, launch trajectories
from dummy thrones, this parliament

of apprentices not yet ruptured or repaired.
Timid punchlines ripple like flags creeping

up their poles—operatic duets, twirling
guffaws.  Goateed rocker enters stage right

in his mini motorcycle, cotton candy princess
shuns her master—You’re just jealous of my

swag.  We wish them legacy of spotlight,
green light in critique.  The stage is kind tonight.

About the Author:

Rikki Santer's work has appeared in various publications including Ms. Magazine, Poetry East, Margie, Slab, Crab Orchard Review, RHINO, Grimm, Slipstream, Midwest Review and The Main Street Rag. Her fifth poetry collection, Make Me That Happy,  was published recently by NightBallet Press.