Friday, August 8, 2014

Barbara Woolworth Hutton

Barbara Woolworth Hutton

Barbara Woolworth Hutton

Heiress? I inherited my mother's suicide.
Heiress? I received my son's plane crash.
Miss Hutton shifts, adjusts her diamonds,
smooths-down her ice-white party dress.

It is night... 64-degrees... little noise
rises from the street up to her suite,
decorated in Kennedy Era Gothic,
at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
Miss Hutton pops an orange Seconal,
Even after death I require barbiturates.
She lightly rubs iron-grey front teeth,
Millions... and uncared-for teeth.

Women measure each other's value
by the quality of man they are able
to fetch, snare into marriage, and retain.
I loved all too often... seven marriages,
gave away multiple fortunes.
Miss Hutton dry-gulps another Seconal.
Cary Grant must have loved me.
Yes... he took no money at divorce.




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