You know who I am.

I see it in your face.

Yes, I shop at the grocery store
just like “regular folk,”
and I’ll fill my own gas tank, too,
if you want to watch.

Bring your camera.

Did I attend Cannes?

No, but, I sent a cast of my ass,
which is the only part of me
that makes it into most of my movies.

Yes, my. If a woman with a six-figure salary can claim
my ass is hers,
then I can claim her star vehicle is my movie.

Did we get along?
What is this?
I never met the, excuse me, talent.

I was usually ushered in to film
the scene her contract stipulated
she wouldn’t do.

Fame or no,
I got to stipulate
that inessential crew were barred
during my body cameo.

Pissed her off, I heard.

I make a good living, thank you.
That torso in the Tom Ford promo?

You bet it’s not Miss-The-World-Loves-Me.

If you’ll excuse me,
I’ve got a yoga cycle class.