Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Marilyn Monroe Wasn't a Size Six



Marilyn Monroe Wasn't a Size Six

by Alison Welsh


The snakes are coming.
The snakes are charming.
Winding, wielding, whispering
Paths among the fruit tree
With promises of lily white,
With promises of dancing light.

Me she, we,
Partake of the finest
And more pure ecstasy,
While green monsters dive,
And park their unholy bodies
Upon our lovers thigh.

Picked up the costume,
Picked up the cloth,
Because breasts hypnotize,
And triangles are obscene.

The hunter
The gatherer
The skirt in the hole.
Hands fluffing yeast
Hip cradling child
A shadow of a soul.

Big "A" marker
When we've tried to ride the wind
Like a cow for the milking
With a subservient chin.

Straighten up
Suck it up
And keep that waist trim!
They've got mountains of silk,
Satin bliss
But only for those who keep thin.

And now Marilyn's crying,
She's up heaving sick,
For the voluptuous temptress
Wasn't a size six.


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