Adultery In the Lincoln Room (Ode to Jacqueline Lee)

By Rebecca L. Morrison

Millions are listening to the radio.

He addresses the podium, his fist a gavel.

Pressure is a gun of legacy to

sullen, sodden, nuclear heads.

Jewelry only suits these sophisticates.

The waters are choppy, I’ve nothing to hide.

That aside, we’re paint and canvas –

stunning success created on concrete.

I am a real heart-breaker,

not a glossy paper-doll in a ladies’ magazine.

I’ll bear this bedazzled crown on the lawn,

velveteen rumors bound to my shoes.

I stand hushed in tweed Chanel,

thousands of francs never spent well.

They love him; he tells them what they can do for their country.

I might have passed a night in Versailles

some three-hundred years long past,

but the district, it holds me tonight.