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So, What's New? |
Just bought a new-for-me black velvet jacket.
It's fully lined. Tres belle.
The designer labels stitched on still, but
I’ve ripped away those shoulder pads
power dressing is simply out.
It's got a little fluff.
I've cleaned it up.
It cost me only nine dollars.
My last one came from Paris, France,
decades ago. I’ve not been there since.
Am living here in very different times.
I love this new black jacket: it suits
my sleek sideburns. I mix it with
my corduroys of gray, tan, sometimes
pink, with a checker shirt, elastic-sided boots,
and my shiny labrys-buckled belt.
On the lapel is pinned a holographic heart
I’ve worn for thirty years or more, and which
incidentally, I did buy, way back then
when partying in Paris, France.
At school I jived with my brother's girlfriends.
I was in green uniform and wearing knee-high socks.
My willing partners dressed alike, but as seniors
they wore sheer nylon stockings. A good Windsor knot
took time to tie. They liked me in the lead, I know.
I twirled them round, their smiles unfurled.
Attired today I'm feeling pretty suave,
the best dressed cocky* trailin’ town.
But does anybody care to dance? No.
The reason: They think I’m odd, I know it.
Perhaps, it's the black hairs above my lips,
like teenage fuzz on adolescent boys
that's growin’ darker every day, or, maybe
it’s my swelling firmer breasts each month
that makes them keep their distance safe.
To pluck or not to pluck, to shave, to wear a bra?
Momentarily these are niggling questions
Oh, forget it, damn them, they must love me,
just take me as I am: a natural woman,
all heart, always happy, and currently I’m free.
~~~
*an Australian farmer
copyright 2009
Barbara A.
Taylor |
