Category Archives: Poetry

Acting

James P. Van Dyke, with a minor in Psych
wanted to be an actor.
He dreamed every night of his name up in lights
and audience roaring with laughter.
So he moved to L.A. and got started that day
scrubbing dishes and floors at a diner.
And ignoring the fact that his acting was crap,
his scrubbing could not have been finer.

James P. Van Dyke, with a minor in Psych
waited from Winter to Fall.
But no agent, he found, after looking around,
would return even one of his calls.
Having sought wealth and fame he had reaped only pain,
his dream all but withered and gone.
Not food, love, or drink, nor the couch of a shrink
could give him the will to go on.

James P. Van Dyke, with a minor in Psych
answered the phone every night
to talk to no other but dear loving mother
and try not to put up a fight.
“James,” she would say, in her matronly way,
“You’re a failure who’s run out of luck.
No one will hire a talentless liar.
You’re not an actor—give up!”

James P. Van Dyke, with a minor in Psych
would be dead with a shell in his brain
were it not for a pill to resolve any ill-
ness in sunshine, in fog, or in rain.
An antidepressant for gods and for peasants,
for children and wombats and bears.
It’s easy to throw back your woes with a Prozac
and live without worries or cares.

James P. Van Dyke, with a minor in Psych
got a phone call from Pfizer one day:
“We wondered if you would be willing to do
a testimonial sometime in May.”
So he went to rehearsal for the Prozac commercial,
which aired on T.V. soon thereafter.
But his face turned pale green when it said on the screen,
“James is not an actor.”