Don’t be too surprised as I
Click heels with the blessed of ‘em;
Wait ‘til we’re out of hiding –
News reels just haven’t
Confessed it for us yet.
Their Dolce and Gabbana
Public cadre, mobile messages
Tightly taped to their faces.
Can whisper to America; so opined
Yet never even queued for groceries.
Fine with me though: I could happily nap
During debacle retrospect, ‘The public
Were not in danger at any time.’
Is the mantra of avenues run
By nebulous crooks.
They may refer me to their lawyers
With apoplectic whispers,
Those botulined etiquette by-pass baiters,
Who pick their sons and
Their daughters from long glass tubes
– Cask-conditioned birth cocktails.
They enumerate these benefits,
With an accent to seduce Gorilla-men
And tempt their Santa Monica
Wives into troop formation,
While I’ll be talking all that jazz,
Order a double (extra black) to blunten edges,
Mix in melodrama spin for other-half
Apologetic passengers who’ve
Nothing else to do or say:
“I’ve all these wonderful remarks to make
Because of course I am a writer
And I can jive poetic about any skirt
That can direct traffic;
How the sum of her parts defines her.”
The cutter’s choice is too good
To cover in rags no-one will motive;
Those rakish details young
Designers bring to things.
Whose cheeks’re so perfect
You wouldn’t believe?
I joke I’ve lain her twice
But seriously: tell everyone.