Ancient Porn, and: Last Legs

Abstract

Ancient Porn, and: Last Legs Jerl Surratt (bio) Ancient Porn A time or two weekly, decades ago,gave evidence that you were meant for me.The news came courtesy of vhsand soon sunk in, and when my favorite filmin which you starred came out on dvdI made the leap—less to keep returningas religiously as I once did, more to have youclose at hand in case I might feel lonelyin a way that made me think you needed me. Late adopter as I've since become,it's finally more than clear, even to me,that I could get a date with you againby going online. This disk I've now let playbeginning to end, for the first time ever,is the last of its kind I'll watch, as I've begun,if slow as the tortoise, to jettison thingsthere's little secondary market for—some technologically passé, and in your case,outré as well. You'd just add pathosat best, revulsion at worst, to the choresmy absence will create for the bucket brigadeengaged in parsing me as an estate. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, you woreyour incandescent smile from the first daythat you got hired, your eyes as bright a blueas your denim shirt and jeans that looked brand new. Your smile was the only thing that you kept wearing,even in the midst of plowing throughthe cowboys scripted to switch sides for you,all victims of The Method.The fun you were having that didn't looklike acting, more like this was you for real, [End Page 82] distinguished you; enraptured me. And now,as then, a rainbow's come and gone. Lazily I kept on watching, letting each subsequent sceneachieve its happy end until the last one had you riding offinto a sunset toward another town, another ranchpresumably, this time though with a cowpoke friend. The soundtrack changed from steel guitars to a bar beat;the credits rolled. A pretty good studio portraitof you appeared that I freeze-framed.It made me think way back to how I lookedwhen I was young along with youand dirty blonde to your brunette. Funny. Now I kind of mind the way you wore your hairand beard, that one misplaced tattoo. But listen,fussy newfound faults like these mean nothing,nothing at all compared to the gifts you showered me withand have bequeathed, those nights I stayed inside to beamong the tricks you turned. You helped keep me alive. Lucky you, you'll always be this young.What? No? Alright, I'll walk that back.I think I understand what you want me to say. How could you not want to be here and doingthe work you bet you'd still be in demand for,on demand for. How could you not want to tasteeven the chaste kiss of an elder admirer,this smudge I, without overthinking it,just left onscreen—playing Prince Charmingto wake and cure of death his poisoned King. This soft touch from the heart to the hardcore,this is what you'd have been living for. [End Page 83] Last Legs A change in the weather. A change for the worse.Lights out with that last lightning burst. The house shakes and the spirit soars.The body wants to shake like that. Quick, kill the drink till now you've nursed,And let it plant you on all fours. If Love, your god, comes stumbling back,Storm-driven down your beaten track, It will expect a welcome mat.You might as well rehearse. [End Page 84] Jerl Surratt jerl surratt's poems have been published previously in The Hopkins Review, and in Kenyon Review, Literary Imagination, The New Criterion, other journals, and two anthologies. A Texas native, educated by New York City, he now lives in Hudson, NY, where he's at work on his second poetry collection, Fine Romances. Copyright © 2023 Jerl Surratt