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.