DARK MARILYN
Our sweet matter to anti-matter
the gilded cage gridded, blocks, contains
epitome of class, pleasure and power
Always six paces behind, a life of service
I brushed by them one east end afternoon
As Charles and Nigella floated by
Like peacocks emerging from a stairwell
Their expensive coats azure blue, bejewelled
At a secret view of Conran’s new restaurant
I stood watching my artist friend imitate Chagall
Stair painted for the decorative pleasure of diners
Indian and Jewish colours swirling like feathers
A car waiting above to return her to a fake kitchen
A fake marriage with fake lighting, fake cooking
Performing normality in front of chauffer and chef
The ringmaster always in control, labour doesn’t work
A Thatcherite generation child lost to trauma
Washed up in a promotional video that became life
Decorous, dysfunctional, abused, depressed
Then trapped in a paparazzi shot forever choked
Mouth dripping chocolate like fake blood
Dark Marilyn
A new chocolate bar.
