Glory

Oh, yes, and if I were anyone else's moustache, to hell with me.

It's all well and good and true and close and wise and great to be a moustache. It feels good to be a moustache. It feels right and welcoming to be a moustache. Every hair of me loves to brush the very tip of the top lip, to stroke and rub it as the mouth moves, to skim the line where the skin goes from peach to red. Love it.

This moustache fights the Civil War, though it is only a fake Civil War. This moustache tickles a lip that wants nothing more than to fire a phony musket, and ride a horse. This moustache is right and proud to be involved in the freeing of the slaves, even if the slaves are no longer being held, and this is only a pantomime.

That's right, this moustache (me) is in the Show Business. I have a trailer that is all my own, right next to the trailer wherein the man who wears me when we are on screen stays. This moustache has a personal trainer, who keeps me full and dark. This moustache has a mini-fridge filled with bottled water.

This moustache is worn by Matthew Broderick, who is really a consumate professional.

Have you met his wife? She's a dear.

They have parties. This moustache is often invited.

James Caan gave this moustache a tip on where to find some real Cuban cigars.

This moustache looks good in a thick blue uniform, and hangs with distinction, don't you think?

No time to blog. They are about to start filming.

**

I interviewed a poet named Brian Beatty and put the interview up on the internet.