-Marilyn Monroe in Fall River-

leaving the first-floor tenement for our day at the beach,

Marilyn Monroe said she wanted to drive but I told her "no!

I've seen you drive".

It was raining lightly but the TV weatherman said:

"don't worry about it".
Marilyn Monroe looked radiant in the rayon robe covering

her one-piece and at the break above the hem it fluttered

slightly in the warmth of the morning wind stopping just below the cruel

knot of its sash then folded in on itself like an unanswered question.

she slipped across then settled into the leathery passenger seat

of the '59 MGA roadster with a sweet swoosh intensifying 
the imagery of her attitude.

the ragtop was fastened securely to the windscreen where 

mid-June's standing atmosphere filled the narrow cockpit

with a musty dampness dabbed with the jasmine scent of No. 5. 

once inside, Marilyn Monroe opened the sliding side-

curtain wherethrough rain droplets entered beading upon her skin.

then she fucked-up the rear-view mirror as usual, this time

to examine the underside of her chin and who knows why.

but when the iPhone's early alarm chimed-in with Bach's 695th

whatchamacallit, ––I got out of bed, scratched close to the necessaries

and took a moment to consider the dream,–– then looked outside

from the balcony toward the southward run of the slow, steely river.

end.