Marilyn as Muse

There is poetry (and hip-hop) scattered throughout the book. As a teen, I sought solace in verse, escaping the world by traveling back to the era of Wordsworth. My heroine, when she finds she has lost her voice, turns to poetry to express the feelings that refuse to come out of her mouth. Ever-disappointed in love, she writes her companion the most unromantic poem, inspired by the cynical wit of Dorothy Parker and her own unresolvable angst.

My girlfriends say I’m like Marilyn,
Only with no real fame to revel in,
But constantly followed around by men
Ungentle and most already taken
By a woman less a wife than matron.

I’ve enough of playing next to best
Visitations only Wednesdays lest
We arouse suspicion and break the lease
On every aspect of domestic peace.
From spinach casseroles to a perfect crease.

How often have I seen him genuflect,
Pronouncing love with real dramatic effect.
It’s plain that in the scheme of things,
Men are warranted to indulge in petty flings
With nothing even near a moral reprieve
For ripping hearts clean from gentle sleeves
Belonging to the undeservedly deceived.

But a girl shall ever want the benefit provided
When in law a couple is solemnly united
Like spousal breakfasts and holiday breaks,
Oh, to bathe together in serene Italian lakes,
To dine finely on plates of Argentine steaks…

It’s a tease to know he’s only out on loan
For a few short hours before he heads back home
The stark truth of it’s a prickly stinger
Infecting a resolve to no longer linger…
When there’s no motherfucking ring around my finger.

 

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