Poor Cow: A 20th Century Icon Poem by Sheena Blackhall

First came the Dangerous Years
Norma Jeane was the child of a schizophrenic
Remembered her mother trying
To smother her in her cot

In and out of orphanages, foster homes
Sexually abused since 8 years old, raped at 11
This dizzy blond had an IQ of 168
Foster families sent her to the movies
Alone, a psychiatrist's dream to unpick

One of the ladies of the chorus
She read Camus and Hemingway
Whitman, James Joyce and Freud

She laid herself out in a playboy nudie spread sheet
Bums from the asphalt jungle
Lusted and drooled over her

There was always the suggestion of monkey business
Did gentlemen prefer blondes?
Too true… many crossing the river of no return
To woo her…a drum roll of glistening stars

Sinatra, Brando, the Kennedys, plural,
Yves Montand, Jerry Lewis, Howard Hughes
Two Chaplins, et al et al….

There's No Business Like Show Business
The Seven Year Itch blew up her skirt in the subway
Brought down her marriage

Some Like It Hot…
Three husbands, Dougherty, Di Maggio, Miller

Norma Jeane sang "Happy Birthday, Mr. President"
At President J. F. Kennedy's birthday bash
Wearing a beige, skin-tight dress picked out in rhinestones,
Looked like a nude sirenrising above the cake

One of life's Misfits
Something had to give
Found dead in bed, rattling with pills,
At 36…her home, bugged by the FB1, the CIA

She was buried in her Emilio Puce dress
In a Cadillac casket, solid bronze
And lined with champagne silk
Jo DiMaggio sent red roses
To crypt no 24 for twenty years

At the Corridor of Memories
Hugh Hefner lies beside her, next along

Hers was never your average home town story
Addiction, depression, anxiety, sex in spades
Which is why Britney Spears owns a pair of her jeans
Mariah Carey owns her piano

The blond bombshell's films grossed 200 million dollars
Post mortem, plays, operas, songs have blasted her
Into super stardom

Groucho Marx called her"Mae West, Theda Bara, Bo Peep
All rolled into one".

She was as famous as hot dogs, apple pie, baseball
According to Photo play.
Her name sold Max Factor, Chanel,
Mercedes-Benz, and Absolut Vodka

Think of her eating a chocolate soufflé at Romanoff's
Washed down by a rare champagne
Not drowning in tears and pills
Film goddess with feet of clay
One of life's victims, tragedy writ large