And we are stopped, mid strut.
Fancy designer skins and pelts,
The friendly cloth bag did replace.
The kind we daily wash and dry. Mine did.
Chiffony nine yards and fancy silks,
Now humbled by the airy cotton ball.
‘A single piece or two, minimal dressing’ we’re told.
Big diamonds bright adorning lobes and wrists,
Exiled to even bigger vaults.
Better no crevices for viruses to thrive, they say.
Painted reds on talons long, a no-no so they say.
They’re perfect shields for dirt to hide!
The frequent handwash more a must, we know.
Pouty lips, plum-deep and fuschia bright,
Now sulk behind the masked layers.
We no longer can be seen! they cry.
Shimmering waves of glossy ‘chemicaled’ hair,
Now bound up nice and tight.
Tis best to daily bind and wash, you see?
Pricey red based pointy tips now shelved,
How can I leave them out the door? I say.
My friendly flip flop takes over.
And I am stopped, mid strut.