Pretty Polly

Day in, day out. She brought more home than all her family Had her three story home in the South of France And her flat in the heart of the city. Polly lived her life in the public eye. And that Dear, is no lie. Day in, day out The Darling would pose for pictures In front of a cold lens. It spewed green and fame, From the flicker of its shutter. Before the flash, flashed her loneliness. Belief in Thoreau’s transcendentalism, But the hand that fed her was materialism What a predicament. One day Polly, the Pretty Petty Darling Teetered at the ledge Of her multi-million dollar prison. How far would it be? Far. But it would be the closest thing to freedom. Psychological imprisonment. A sickness existent only in her head. But the freedom would be tangible Yes. Tangible down to the tee. Bouquets of pristine pansies sitting by her pretty pedicure Throngs of people wanting a piece of her. But she had already given them all of her. What a predicament. Day in, day out She would wonder What happened to living? The wind swayed her. She took it as a sign. Darling, Pretty Polly jumped. A predicament to end all predicaments.