Yellow Girls
Because someone named them Stars of Gold,
they think of themselves as celebrities.
All summer long they’re on stage
wearing identical dresses.
They prefer their own crowd –
a little too pretty, a little too blond, a little too
full of themselves.
Never alone, they gather in groups
to  gossip about the others – the speckled 
or freckled girls, the striped, the blushing,
the early blown.  What a pity, says one.
What a pity, say all.  You can’t tell one from another.

Mary Fell

If you have any comments on this poem, Mary Fell would be pleased to hear from you.