Sometimes a poem comes out

I used to write a lot of poetry, and sometimes a poem still comes out whether I want it to or not. Today I read the awful news about Yvette Vickers, found “mummified” in her house after being dead for a year. Vickers appeared in B-movies like Attack of the 50 Foot Woman and Attack of the Giant Leeches. She was also photographed for Playboy in the late 1950s by sexploitation legend Russ Meyer.

To Yvette Vickers

you were the girl they all wanted to fuck
and that was your power
for a year or two

until their outsized morality
made you the scorned mistress of a man whose wife was 50 feet tall
then covered you in leeches
sucked their desire right out of you
as you lolled naked on the sofa, unaware
that time was passing

and the girl they all wanted to fuck
lived only in the glow of old photographs
taken by Russ Meyer who continued to enjoy his status as a cult icon
while you went into real estate sales
even as your own house fell into ruin
and the rooms stayed clogged with unopened fan mail
because you knew
if you opened those envelopes
every single letter would say the same thing:

you are the girl I want to fuck

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