Marilyn wore a new shirt today,
It was red plaid with striped trim.
She wore a pair of jeans that she has worn before,
Pale blue with white,
hugging her legs tight.
Her calves arched gracefully into her ankle boots, pink socks peeking out from the edge of the boots.
They make a little click as she walks,
her ponytail swinging side to side slightly,
small tendrils of twig colored curls framing her face.
At lunch, Marilyn was early,
And she sat down at her table, with only the company of a small poetry book
I sat in the corner table I usually did, eating my sandwich, glancing back every once in a while.
Marilyn brought some alfredo fettuccini in a purple glossy thermos,
the one she has had since she was 12
She laughed as her friends gathered around her,
accidentally flinging some pasta behind her
It landed on a boy behind her,
Who laughed and ate the pasta off his shirt.
"This boy" is Timothy.
Timothy was Marilyn's boyfriend a few months ago
I guess they broke up
But no one ever said
YOU ARE READING
Marilyn
PoetryMarilyn is perfect. Marilyn is beautiful. Marilyn is flawless. Marilyn doesn't know me. But I'd like to think I know her. [This is a work in progress!!!many more parts will come out!!!]
