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Is That You?

The funhouse has been rehabbed by an enigmatic avatar
who was fingered by the mob
for selling love seats door-to-door.
Her rap sheet included a moratorium on rehearsals.
Her lines, brilliant, were changed by an unknown assailant.
Her voice, scratchy but beloved
by those in the nosebleed section,
failed to weather the latest blur of retractions.
You however emerged unscathed,
again, the hands-on favorite
eyes on the lighthouse
tap dancing to the rhythm of uncertainty.
Even the chameleons were impressed
by the cool architecture of your footnotes
as you stepped up to the plate
in full technicolor
with the right credentials, no less,
and took on the boarded-up storefronts
in that neighborhood that’s been all over the papers lately.
This is not new.
You’ve gotten to second base many times before
despite the allegation that you’re all thumbs.
But don’t be fooled by the latest spam.
The weather will again turn ugly.
Roll out your alternative workplan.
Remain unfazed by telemarketers
who will be ready to give up their ghosts in the foothills.
With luck, you will be off again, Prozac’d,
ready to face the music - a cacophony
by some twentieth-century composer
whose name is synonymous with transparency.