Zelda Fitzgerald
By mark_yelland-brown
Fri, 20 Jun 2008
- 741 reads
Zelda Fitzgerald
flaps over with cocktails
chiffon in cream
looking so fine.
I watch Scott's eyes
drift into focus
hiding behind
his Martini dry.
Scott's scratching at midnight
lost in his stories
hating each word
that appears on the page.
She sleeps in the hammock,
disturbed in soft snoring
he looks over hating her,
impotent rage.
It's heavy over breakfast
both smoking and eating
French toast and pure orange juice
left undisturbed.
Their eyes meet continually
no need for speaking
this strange love and madness
their particular curse.
Scott F. Fitzgerald
glamorous writer
drunk as a sponge
falls over again.
She too is falling,
into insanity,
stuck on depravity,
creating an `age`.
- Log in to post comments