Meeting Marilyn and Jane
We are from the sixties, I am Marilyn, and she is Jane.
They are wearing leopard, tightly, and seem a bit insane.
We have painted our car appropriately the less smart one says.
I have no words for them. They are probably not from any res.
We are platinum blondes, Marilyn tells me, as if I am sight-impaired.
Sixties songs all the time, says the one whose laundry gets aired.
They tell of cheating husbands and the joyful road trip they are on.
A few more minutes of chatter, and these tell-alls are away and gone.
Did you hear what happened to Jane? I yell as they peel pink car away.
Marilyn gives me a happy wave; and they are out of sight that day.
They were something! My husband says, winking as if we have a joke.
They might be ridiculous, but do not deserve meanness from a bloke.
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