In memory of Paul Hunt, 1943-2011
Paul barefoots across wooden floor,
his feet patting past an upright Moviola.
Its reels fill an old canvas mail bin.
Celluloid spills over bloated sides
like black guts puked from some
sour-bellied movie creature.
He halts beside a 10-foot cannabis plant,
withered carcass dangling from chain attached
to A-frame ceiling covered by vintage movie
posters. Box office faces stare as Paul strips dried
flower-tops and leaves, sprinkles them onto banana
flavored Zig-Zag papers. He expertly rolls his first
morning reefer, torches it with aluminum Zippo.
He sucks a deep toke, holds the smoke a dozen
measured seconds, then coughs a marijuana cloud
into the pungent canyon air.
When his coughing attack subsides, Paul glances
at Robert Mitchum’s chiseled face staring
from a River of No Return one-sheet. The bearded,
film-master flashes his Tommy Chong grin, mutters
God! I love Hollywood! He pitters barefoot
and squint-eyed back to his trusty old Moviola.