Offered as a keepsake
A movie-star of Marilyn’s magnitude
A worn gardener’s hat
About sex and love and marriage
Affording a view of English society
An old rose fancier was dying
And always the bewildered queries
And make them feel her life on their flesh
Asking for money for an operation
Baffled women wanting to become wonderful
But occasionally a container of faeces would arrive
But what she is instead is hard to define
By the time of the congress
Daily the bags of mail arrived
Fifteen per cent were quite insane
Free of charge
Her wand, all sparkly and nice
I received many telegrams
As though she were a fairy
In some cases, for a fee in others.
In the Public’s imagination
Is obviously no longer human
One man invited her down a mine
Several offered to put her out of her misery
She is a form of longing
Some of the letters
That will somehow stop time for them
That’s probably unique
Addressed to her as an institution
The public holds her up before the sun
To collect its rays to a burning point
To go fishing in a Scottish lake
We invented replies
And in that sense Godlike
Without calling up the supernatural
No comments:
Post a Comment