This is for Sunday Scribblings, which gave the prompt word, “Hitch.” Also at Poets United, my poetic home-away-from-home. Enjoy, movie buffs! Amy


Close-up, sloooowly, Grace leans in
and Jimmy Stewart wakes to a kiss.
Raymond Buff commits a sin,
but Grace and James still find their bliss.

Tippi Hendren, without words,
the schoolkids must deliver:
Running from the pecking birds
to a house where they all shiver.

Wartime Cummings, Saboteur?
Joel McCrea, war correspondent.
Ingrid, a provocateur,
leaves Claude Raines despondent.

And how can we forget the sight
of Janet Leigh’s ill-fated shower:
Black and white blood, one stark fright.
Tony Perkins’ finest hour.

When the planes swooped o’er the grain
Hitch made Cary Grant look tough.
We won’t see Hitchcock’s like again…
but Tarantino steals his stuff.

Alfred Hitchcock, Lord of Thrills,
his wife an aide in everything,
he still brings us stellar chills.
Screw “no Oscar,” Hitch is king.