(So, I was watching episodes of Castle all day. And that made me look up Nathan Fillion’s IMDB profile. Which made me challenge myself to write a poem that includes all the titles from that profile. Enjoy.)
There was an ordeal in the attic–
strange and rich creatures from another planet
pilfered and ransacked through dusty crates.
Authorities tried to put a spin on it.
City police officers offered their
total security. I cuddled up with my
pomerianian, Beckett, and we watched Saving Private Ryan
to take our minds off this extraterrestrial debacle.
The outer limits of our personal bubbles
had been invaded, flung wide open like dracula’s coffin.
At least 2000 plausible explanations were offered up
between me and Beckett, who thought she was
king of the hill, but is actually only pup of the house.
Two guys, a girl and a pizza placed upon the coffee table,
we tried to get to the bottom of it all. Glenn suggested
we escape to Pasadena. Bill jokingly offered up Alligator Point.
We couldn’t come to any conclusions and instead decided to
watch old episodes of Buffy. Which turned into a
Joss Whedon marathon, and pretty soon, we were all drunk
on tequila and looking up FOX network customer service numbers
to complain yet again about Firefly being cancelled.
Walking outside to take Beckett for her nightly bathroom break,
I regarded the pool, walking to the water’s edge.
The inflatable island from last night’s party floated
back and forth, an oasis of mismatch. Glenn brought out the
house phone–it was a call from a detective from the Hollywood Division,
saying that the robbery had been committed by extras from an alien film
high on meth and on a criminal outing. “Riley, Jade, Empire, those were
the names of the perps. Do you want to press charges?”
“No, as long as they return what they took, I’ll have serenity.”
Hanging up, I felt as though justice, leagues of justice, had been served.
Beckett decided to slither out from the pool, a lost, wet fur ball.
After she had shaken herself out, she bristled her ears back
and growled as though she had heard white noise.
“It’s too late for that,” I said. “The motion light is what startled you.”
Bill, who was really smashed, started calling out for a waitress.
Glenn decided to put him to bed. I thought about taking Beckett out
for a midnight drive to see the stars, as we all have only one life to live,
but it was late, and I had consumed too much tequila. Glen started playing
Halo 3 after he had put Bill to bed, and that was my cue to head upstairs.
I thought about sexting the trucker I had met the weekend before,
but it had been a long night and I didn’t want to seem desperate.
Housewives everywhere sat up drinking wine and picturing jello wrestling
matches between Dr. Horrible and Captain Hammer. After scanning cable
for some PG porn, I instead dreamt about becoming Wonder Woman
and kicking Superman’s ass. I thought about venturing downstairs
to steal my brother’s Green Lantern figurine, but it wasn’t worth it
for all the trouble it would cause the morning after.
Husbands secretly turn Robot Chicken on after their wives have
fallen asleep. Either that, or read Justice League comics
under the covers with a flashlight. “America, Dad…sometimes it feels
like there’s much ado about nothing.” I start to write to my father.
But when I’ll is said and done, I’m still the queen of my castle.