*Featured image courtesy of Talha Riaz on Pexels*
These poems are a bit different from our usual postings. They are written as a biography following the husbands of the poet Dorothy Parker, and their life with her.
On Dorothy Parker by her First Husband
(Edwin Pond Parker II)
When I met her she was small
a woman you could woo
breathe her woody scent
run hands down slim hips
have lively discussions
her sweet gentle voice
sharing words of love.
Time sharpened her edges
her soft speech peppered
with bricklayer swears
her radical views
cutting bitch wit
deep sense of injustice
anger at the rich which
I took personally, insulted
as provider in our home
scion of a fine family
successful stockbroker
she seemed to reject all
that she had come from
that I was giving her
she bit the open hand
of her master once
too many times.
After the war
I returned from the front
different than I’d left her
alone for two years
I was not a fit
with her artsy crowd
except our shared thirst
little short drinks
all through the day
and out all night
’til I left her
for my mother
in the dry suburbs
of upscale Connecticut.
Her rebound poems
book reviewers loved
her stories capturing
the roar of young New York
that new urban masterpiece
glass towers, fast cars
bobbed women in furs
the crack jazz syntax
of excitement experienced
walking rain-wet streets
the maternal love she felt
not for children
or me
but for her own big life.
On Dorothy Parker by her Second Husband
(Alan Campbell)
I was a Broadway actor
handsome but underutilized
when she swept into my life
her incandescent humor
her firebrand charm
and I convinced her
to love me despite
my undesirable desires
we moved to L.A.
where the streets were paved
with Goldwyn she said
we could write scripts
with roles for me.
We went straight
to the top and lived
in Beverly Hills
a pretty house
a yard full of dogs
romping and writing
screenplay after screenplay
nominated for Oscars
the original story for
A Star is Born…
but mine did not rise
and her faith in me sank
announcing one day
in the slosh of martinis
I was queer as a goat.
First thing I do in the morning
is brush my teeth
and sharpen my tongue.
I escaped to the Air Force
officer training school, Miami
swimming pools and barracks
good friends, a better life
overseas
I met a woman
and did not return.
On Dorothy Parker by her Third Husband
(Alan Campbell)
She got dumped in Mexico
by yet another playboy
fighting her desires
crawling back to me
we wed again
a bouquet of big smiles
for the moment
for the newspapers
in the California sunshine
rapidly fading to shadows
drinking, bickering
until she fled
to New York, always
back to New York.
She moved into a modest
residential hotel
dark halls full of shuffling
lonely old women
gray widows, spinsters
in soft slippers, housecoats
and she wrote a play
about them, herself
a success on the stage
a traveling show.
The only thing to expect
from Dorothy Parker
was the unexpected.
When I sold a project
to Fox Studios
the contract stipulated
both of us
or no deal
she came back to me
sharing my bungalow
in the Swish Alps.
I installed a bookcase
in my bedroom doorway
with a hidden lock
with a handful of pills
I lay down on my bed
under the dry cleaning
plastic
and she had to hunt down
the secret key
to let herself in
to my cold blue flesh.
Back to New York
among the gray widows
a frail bird
whittling herself down
to yellow bones
full of regrets
for what she saw
as her meager
life
accomplishments.
I hate writing.
I love having written.
She was at war
with herself
her whole life.
Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan writes tropical noir with a dark humor. Her poetry has been widely published in literary journals and chapbooks. In 2020, Grandma Moses Press released Florida Man. A less humorous chapbook is No Guns Left Behind, poems on the history of school shootings. Visit her at https://mickeyjcorrigan.com/
