It is life, mundane,
Being fitted over her,
Like she is the shine
When truth must concede that we
Are the main attraction, stars.
The color of life
We share it in helping style,
The jeans, shorts, shirts,
We present her to the world,
Charming, disarming, oui, oui.
A dress, dressing up
What they compliment, extreme,
We clothes do perform
With the boldest statements, grace,
Then cast aside, shame her pride.
When she dotes, and preens,
It is the magic we bring
How fashion delights,
No figure, no notice, is
Such we lack miracle dreams.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
I am doing laundry and laundry. I tried a persona poem. After fighting with tangles, I needed to say something.
