The Garish Marilyns
Do nothing for me
The pinks
The greens
Obscene sweet wrappers

A level art students pour in like
Fresh fish hauls
They stare reverentially at the
Garish Marilyns
They have seen a thousand times before
On poorly made t-shirts
They use words like iconic
I rustle my sweet papers they
Glance over but my plain face
Only distracts them momentarily
From the gaze of yet another
Garish Marilyn