Emily Deschanel

Murky mist on West 53rd

Midtown grit awaiting glamour

Black car approached, paparazzi stirred

Swing up camera like a hammer.

High heel shadow from blinding flash

Frozen image of bold-face name

While on the ledge, forgotten trash

Watched the machinery of fame.

Though now you be the favored swan,

It seemed to say, though mute and dumb,

They'll chew you til your flavor's gone

And then discard you just like gum.