Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Ralph Monday- A Poem

Making Love to Sabrina

You probably never heard of Norma Ann Sykes,
who came to be called Sabrina. A 50s blonde glamour
girl, Marilyn Monroe, Diana Dors, Jayne Mansfield,
all a composite of one British sexpot, the irony of
Milton’s Eve sporting sunshine tresses in Arthur’s

Not the body with the nineteen inch waist.
Not the forty one inch bust line.
Not the hair, the smile, the movie lips.

It’s the 1950s bloodlines that are so sexy, that
time when women dripped class like stirring pure
sugar into coffee.

Sabrina, for a decade, was all over the world. Hottest
thing since the sun switched on. Wooed by royalty,
courted by Hollywood, graced the cover of a hundred
magazines, she was the glamour girl of the day.

Became a British princess from the squalor of the common

Now, old and broken, she lives alone in a decrepit
L.A. neighborhood, in a house of disrepair mirroring
what she became when the big time threw her away,
beauty that can no longer be enhanced by even a bottle,
this is the joke of the gods.

But, like Mamie
like Rita
like Jayne
like Marilyn
like Achilles
like Hector
like Helen
like Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18

so long as the internet abounds
with your grace,
immortally young,
the stars will flick on for you each

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