by Julie Bihn
From the open areas, the freedom, and the elevator music
Into the sweet scents.
Perfume, lotions, glass cases.
Gaudy beauty at its finest.
The white, the gold, the shines.
The testers; cheap things in the field of opulence
From the unnatural scents
Into the sparkling blue and black fields.
Beautiful dresses, all too exquisite for everyday life and wear.
Dry Clean Only, or don't wash at all.
Form over function in every detail
Turning the headless mannequins into goddesses
The envy of
Past the beautiful things which make the wearer proud
Into the shameful section intended mostly to please men.
Transparent silk robes
Frilled underwear no one could wear comfortably.
Unnatural disgusting items.
Some lacy and beautiful
Most from a nightmarish issue of Playboy.
From the transparent, strangling, sexual items
Into the sleepiest section of the store.
The nightgowns made of flannel,
The familiar, long sleepshirts
Even the women's boxer shorts
With eccentric pastel colors which have no importance
Are comforting, lovely
From the sweet softness of the flannel
Into the wide center aisle.
Down the bland white tiles
Through villages of dry goods and fabrics
All being forced upon me.
Resisting the lures with little difficulty
Moving towards the glass door
© Julie Bihn, 1998
Please do not modify or duplicate without my permission.
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