MAX MET MARILYN.

A MAN MEETS MARILYN MONROE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Max met Marilyn
That year, a month
Or so before her

 

Suicide, before the
Beauty faded or died,
Before Warhol captured

 

Her for all time in multi
Pictures across the globe,
After the men had had

 

Their say and touch, feel,
And left her so; he’d met
Her just the once, a brief

 

Passing, a few words,
A smile or two, the way
She walked away from

 

Him with the beautiful
Butt, the eyes that brought
Light and love into a

 

Thousand men’s heads
And hearts, and the films
And songs, and she giving

 

Him that turn of head, that
Last look, that final smile,
That don’t forget me gaze,

 

Then the suicide, didn’t
Make sense, an oversight,
Mistake, a step too far,

 

But in the final drawn
Out analysis, he could
Remember her the way

 

She was, that day, that
Moment in time, that
Last spread of lips, those

 

Words of goodbye, but
Her image and memory
Lives on, and at least for
Him, she will never die.

Reviews

[just rose.]

And she was iconic and even moreso because she was that potent combination of sexuality and the power it engenders intermixed with vulnerability and fragility. It seems that your narrator here sensed all that, but what he chose to take away from the brief moment was the hopeful incandescence that brought her closer to, and separated her from, so many.