The Poet Reviews Famous Photos

Yes, most of the time
I am...being pretty.
I mean, I want
to say something too,
but not if it means...
well, suppose I'm standing there
on a sidewalk grate someplace,
beautiful rich outfit,
nice pair of white heels,
the whole act,
and suddenly my skirt gets blown up
over my pants
and it looks like a parachute
and looks like I'm falling
maybe like from a roof
like I've just jumped
because my boyfriend
threw me over...
I like this sort of thing...
hell, I love it,
I'd do it every day for a year--
but not if my pants,
which I always want to be showing,
should have piss stains
on them or something worse...
I'd rather do birthday cards
than that...

But once in a while
something happens to me,
I don't know, somebody dies
or I nearly drive off a cliff,
and I start talking
and I don't care about shit
like dirty pants..
I don't care if I'm got up
in a halter and shorts
and look like I'm tumbling
barefoot and headfirst
off a tenement fire escape
that has just collapsed under me
and is falling beside me
in big rusty pieces
while just above me
also falling,
irredeemably hopelessly lost and falling,
is a little six year old girl,
maybe my sister
maybe my daughter
with her dirty shirt blown up
over her skinny ribs
and her arms held out
like useless wings.

(The photos referred to are 1) http://www.marilyncollector.com/legend/syi.html --scroll to bottom photo and 2) http://www.worldsfamousphotos.com/fire-on-marlborough-street-1975.html This is saying too much?)