first saw you in the bottom drawer
of my granddad's workbench.
you were all pink & red
& so was my 10 year old face.

after that first look
I made sure I peeked at you
whenever we visited granddad's.
I felt I owed it you
so lonely & musty in the cellar.

in time you disappeared
but I remember you
Marilyn Monroe
when at 12 I saw you
in River of No Return
I recognized you
                      Marilyn Monroe
& knew you didn't always
wear those long dresses.

a year later you turned up
in the hands of a friend
who taught me how to jerk off
in a crowd.
he had but 1 of you to go around
Marilyn
so I had to share you with 5
other boys.
till that great day I stole you
during geography as my friend
spoke of South America's
bituminous & anthracite.

I took care of you
                          Marilyn Monroe
once I doused you with Vitalis
cause you began to smell like
                                          neat's foot oil
(I had you hidden in my baseball glove)
you recovered, except you looked
gray & somber in spots.

I looked at you almost daily
till I was 16 & found a girl
who would "touch it for me"
if I waved to her
during football practice.
every time she touched it, Marilyn
I thought of you.

somehow you made it from the
baseball glove to a scrapbook
filled with report cards,
pictures of baseball players,
trophy winning essays on
how to prevent fires,
& holy cards from old
spelling bee honors.

you were out of place, Marilyn
but you stayed there for years, secure.

when I heard of your death
I looked for my scrapbook.
couldn't find it.
somehow I felt responsible.