"Betty Grable" by Westward Ho

            (A foaming sea, tempest-tost.  From the waves, a WOMAN rises, huge, with god-
            like gams.  She poses.  Mist.  Birds circle.)

            (The voice of an OLD MAN is heard.  Grainy, recalling.)

THE VOICE OF AN OLD MAN

Betty Grable's legs
Were popsicle sticks,
Stained peachy-red
With the melted blood-ice
Of the War. 

From those fleshy sticks
Could be made log cabins,
Lewd mansions
Where Franklin stoves
Still fueled
Lincoln dreams.

            (Squawk of a bird.  Tide beats against the WOMAN’s giant limbs.)

            THE END