Tonight's Poet Corner: Like Marilyn Monroe

Like Marilyn Monroe
by Belinda Roddie

When my brother and I
had settled outside during a small get-together
at a friend of a friend of a cousin's friend's
quaint little house, the
black and white silhouettes of our fellow
partygoers were beginning to dim

under the flickering light of the ceiling lamp
whipped by the fan blades, its bulb chains
cavorting and caroling. We shared a

potion of choice and dipped our feet in the
swimming pool where last September's
foliage had made its way to brown
chlorine outbacks heading west to new lands.

No sooner had the bubbles cleared my
fluttering lips that I noticed the little
blond girl perched on the diving board,
giggling and drinking directly from a
bottle of pink champagne. She

teetered for a moment, and a gentleman
in gawky glasses and a sports jacket
caught her before she descended into the
murky childhood memories that the
concrete basin hid from us, rimmed
with the timid residue of autumn. My

brother couldn't stop looking at her,
and I suspected that her rescuer
was one of a long procession of
eager suitors scraping for gold
beneath her lips and skirt,
in every crevice and orifice
she had to offer. And she giggled
like Marilyn Monroe, using

one hand to fold down the creases
in the billowing hem that was the
only shield against her and the
jealous winter wind.