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It Could Drive You Crazy
You stand there trying to make sense to the
mechanic.
He points to a space under your car,
mumbles about the universal joint.
Your own joints turn to rubber,
blood sugar dropping you into insulin
shock.
You pop coins in the Coke machine,
your throat opening to a chug of
sweet.
You think of all the booze you guzzled,
smooth as oil into the crankcase.
A vice around your lungs steals your
breath
while you wait for sugar to stop this skid
into panic.
You think about the transplant news--
Doctor Starzl's baboon liver,
moonfaced kids on steroids.
Now they're going for six organs at a
time,
and you know you'd grab for it,
just to stay alive.
The sugar wrenches you back to the mechanic
saying,
The axle's bent. You hit something?
You think, Yeah, I ran into something,
ponder the curb of your own life,
all the turns you missed,
the one-way alleys of romance,
the dead-end husbands,
the diabetic's shortcut life.
I could order the part, he says.
Nah! Just fill it up, you say
and keep on driving.
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I Could Have Been Marilyn Monroe
I had the name, the boobs,
a face like a sweet peach
bursting on the silver screen.
Even had the timing right--
high school in the 60's
Marilyn coming out
in Some Like it Hot,
just when I was hot too,
busting out of my blouse.
Guys whispered names
behind my back, Pin-up,
Tits Moritz, They moaned over
my monogrammed sweater,
asking what I called the other one.
No one knew I couldn't
handle all the catcalls,
guys flapping round snapping
pictures of my gams. I hid
under crinoline skirts,
wired in bras that minimized
the maximum. They couldn't
sew me in a dress to sing
the birthday song to JFK,
pose me on a Billy Wilder
set like a little white
venus in a perfumed tub.
I finally took my own life,
one with a son, degrees
from universities, Camus
under my covers. I ran
from Dimaggio roses,
from guys who held me like
a wrench in calloused hands,
ones who took that little sip
from the bottle in the sack
then tried to get me into
the sack. I kept looking
for a gentle man to satisfy
my Seven Year Itch.
telling myself all along
Something's Gotta Give.
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