Portrait of a
Socialite with a Peach Shawl
by David Francis
She’s an
acquired taste
and she definitely could get under your
skin
even though and paradoxically because you
know
the ruin comes from within.
Her sour expression
of discontent and petulance
made me dismiss her with an off-putting
first impression.
She has the outer down—
from her peach-colored shawl
draped over a bone brassiere,
turquoise bracelet, green mascara,
classical
features which have found
their style—
even her tanning salon
emphasizes the ivory of her grotesque
horsey smile;
her pupils roll like pinballs
entrancing the admirer nearer
with an occasional precise surveying
glance
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. |
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