Here's a sample poem from that issue by Adam Hart that's wonderfully Hitchcockian:
Disappearing Feathers
X stared at the camera
lens and
Hitch was behind, framing the shot.
X stared as lenses focused,
dilating as eye exposed to daylight.
She was Tippi, or Melanie,
or the woman before him on the bench.
But Hitch just saw X.
Here, this is your spot.
The bench her position and behind
starlings were wrangled, though their handler
had names for each one.
Now, lean a bit to the left–you’re blocking the shot.
The rhymes of schoolchildren did nothing
to soothe the grate of the director’s voice.
Now, now, now…
Wings fluttered behind her
and she began to think along the lines of
X.
The axis of her character,
her
solid yet disappearing before the lens.
She could feel the magnified eye
position her, frame her
blonde hair and Edith Head style
just so perfectly within the viewfinder.
X on the bench, cue the birds behind X,
not too much light.
Now, he says to X,
let out a startled scream.
X tries, and the birds begin to rise
behind her, the children’s voices chiming in
Now, now, now…
Scream louder, he says.
Scream as if you mean it.
And X does, imagining the lens shattering
once and for all,
operatic,
as black feathers wing their way into the air.