Dead First Ladies

When girls go pull their dresses up,
Life deals the final blow:
That even though you rock the look
You aren't Jackie O,

There, in the field behind the church
The marigolds won't last;
I see these little details never
Noticed in the past.

If he doesn't know what hit him, well
Then I'm not gonna tell,
If he doesn't know that I know, then
He doesn't know me well,

And if I come away from it
With spiders in my hair,
Remind me just how hesitant,
How fumbling his stare,

For the world is made of little things;
The button on my skirt
That I'll pro'ly never see again;
All pleasure and some hurt:

If dead First Ladies blush and turn
Their shameful heads away,
I know they're wishing, secretly
They're where I am today.

There are grass stains on his trousers
And I gladly take the blame,
But I ask him if he loved her
And he only speaks my name,

I said I wanna be her, but
Thought better of it, then
Turned Presidents to humans and
Then boys right into men,

'Cause when you're old, all accidents
Become fond memories,
Until your lifetime ends, like all the others:
With a wheeze.

But it's been years, the grass is grown,
There's wrinkles on his brow,
They're putting up a gas station
And parking lot there now.

Reviews

[Emrick]

It's the title which caught my attention.
Nice poem.

[Janne Varvára Seem]

Thank you!!