Writing in Whangarei

Marilyn does not Travel in the Back Seat of a Car

by Martin Porter

Dallas, Nov 22nd, 1963.

What fun it was,
what heart wrenching fun.

To be in the car
with all that excited noise,

cheering, the crowd straining
for a glimpse,

she loved the adulation,
even second hand.

Then all of a sudden, high drama.
How she adored those situations,
the melodrama, the ambition,

it was never real,
it was all acting,
wasn’t it?

She would never cradle his head
in her lap, as the car sped away.

She would have her place,
usurped by the other woman,
she would have her vengeance.

Of course she never fired a shot
(then again, nor did he)

but she was there, she was there
and, as sure as hell, you could feel her

straining to reach out to him,
to pluck him from her arms,

knowing that she had won,
knowing that they were in the same place.

© Martin Porter 2010

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