The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Moon as Salted Lemon by Clayre Benzadón

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The Opposite of Limelight

Who cares about that lime-
glimmer, all ragged and exclamatory?

Its spark can turn slanted,
invert as lemonlucent lantern instead.

Theme song: Led Zeppelin’s “The Lemon
Song”. I take them out from the box,

those little rolled-up Meyer matches,
turn the lemonheads upside-down,

like my own metal head
heavy to the drum-bass thrash—

till the juice runs down

and my hands run lighter
now, consist of match(ing)
fingers.

Limes of light
line my tip,

not burnt out, but

stale flames which combust
after I pick a guitar

numb to the neck-fret,
“Fingers On Fire”

(Arthur [“Guitar Boogie”] Smith)
next, dimmed in the background,

not loud or as literal as musician
Davidlap’s lapdance with his

lapping fireshow, twirling
incandescence, but more

of a carburizing wring )))
now take it down a little bit )))

With my pinky, I skim
my lemon sheet (cake),

char the sown outwear
of the electrochemical

neon sponge-candy
furniture (then twist

my lips in amusement,
to discover that my hands

have turned into Lemonheads™!)

The limelight
attempts to exhume free

radicals,

those molecular fragments
with a short lifetime.

Now I backmask the song
(reversal play):

a lime can turn
yellow when over-

ripe, and lemons
greens when underripe.

The key lime
ingredient is this (sublime):

(I should have quit you, baby)

My lemon self doesn’t want
the limelight; instead my tangy

batteries turn inward, save
the saturated tea for other hot attention.

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