Quatrain For The Conclusion Of Mary Shelley's Novel, *Frankenstein*

To distance and darkness, it fled, alone;

and hoped to mount a flaming funeral pyre.

Its shriveled soul will sink like a squat stone

bound for a slow roast deep into Lake Fire.


And when I read Miss Mary's stylish prose

(despite what craven critics dared assert)

I think of Cousin Jeannie's miniskirt,

and shoeless beauty of her sheer, tan hose---

the kind with reinforcements at her toes.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

At Christmas of 1967, my beloved cousin gave me my first copy of Frankenstein.  Though I was disappointed to learn that the seven Universal films with that name were not, as scripted and filmed, close to Mary Shelley's concept, the book continued to remind me of Jeannie.  And her militant shoelessness.  And those high hemlines she favored.  And the beauty of those stockings that she taught me.

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