Officials at Marlborough declined to respond to 
	queries about the Bacon suit...
							NY Times
 
I can tell, though, and I will, 
because I did the beta testing.
Those were my shirts the fat soaked through,
and though the officials at Marlborough
paid for laundry, starch and pressing,
they’d never spring for haberdashery
expenses, and the stains never came out.
 
Worse, the clammy suet against my 
genitals perversely evoked the...
never mind. The officials at Marlborough 
won’t talk about that, and neither
will I. It caused rashes, too.
Depends solved the problem.
In the budget it’s “Miscellaneous.”
 
After a sultry summer day in St. Louis
with the poets Donald Finkel and David Clewell,
who had been brought in as consultants
by the officials at Marlborough,
The suit began to spatter and pop. 
Clewell was nearly struck in the eye
by a globule of hot fat.
 
the suit grew stiff and ill-fitting,
couldn’t be ironed. The project was dropped.
Officials at Marlborough
decline comment. But I miss 
the delicate pattern, the way birds perched
on my shoulder, and dogs followed me
licking at my ankles.
                        

	--When are Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan going to make another of those 
	wonderful romantic comedies, like Sleepless in Seattle or You’ve Got Mail?
	--Tom and Meg will certainly be looking for scripts they can do together. 
	But meanwhile, they each have projects going on their own. They’ll both be 
	going in front of the cameras in biopics—Tom playing Dean Martin, while Meg 
	does the life of Sylvia Plath.
	
Give up those adorable
Tom and Meg romances?
It’s too much to ask.
 
And there’s a better way.
Sylvia loses the Mademoiselle
competition. To make it up,
 
her parents take her
for a week in Havana. She meets 
Dino--handsome, gifted, unfulfilled.
 
She tells him he needs a partner,
a wisecracker, zany—“What about you,
sweetheart?” Dean asks, eyes twinkling.
 
Her parents take her back to Boston.
She’s shoved into Wellesley, Lowell, poetry,
Ted Hughes, and Dean meets Jerry,
 
who looks sort of like Sylvia, without her
vivacious wit. Life pulls them apart, 
their chance at happiness lost…forever?
 
It looks that way for Sylvia. One day,
she decides to end it all. She goes to turn on
the gas jet, but by mistake, hits the radio,
 
hears, through the static, Everybody 
loves somebody sometime…Dean! He’s playing 
the Albert Hall, with Jerry! She leaves
 
Ted and his mistress minding the kids, 
she takes a cab, gets backstage to find
Dean in his dressing room, a gun to his head.
 
She pries it gently from his fingers. They talk
all night, walking beside the Thames. Dean tells her
he can’t stand another night with Jerry.
 
They’ve found each other. Jerry 
goes off to France, Dean and Sylvia  
head for Vegas, where he teaches her
 
how to laugh again, she writes
new material for him, brings
a touch of profundity to his act:
 
When a boot hits your eye
like a big Nazi spy
that’s a Daddy…
 
It’s a happy ending for Sylvia,
and there’s a lesson to be learned
for all of us: