Portrait of a
Socialite with a Peach Shawl
by David Francis
and she definitely could get under your
even though and paradoxically because you
the ruin comes from within.
Her sour expression
of discontent and petulance
made me dismiss her with an off-putting
She has the outer down
from her peach-colored shawl
draped over a bone brassiere,
turquoise bracelet, green mascara,
features which have found
even her tanning salon
emphasizes the ivory of her grotesque
her pupils roll like pinballs
entrancing the admirer nearer
with an occasional precise surveying
at the bar mirror.
Others are attractive and have, perhaps,
traits that could damn her
but tonight, even though she is reelingly
drunk, she is Glamour.