The Business

Redlit stricken....

Is it winter now"now that the chill

Shivers her supple silks?

Curtains only keeps eyes from the outside

From entering, but this seeps through

The glass and the pantomime she

Mannequins this

Youth on a dime…

 

Once enticing

To be a life-sized Barbie

This packaging "with its homespun

Display of velvet reds and pink bows,

Pulled away like cabaret theatre,

To expose this statue of what was :

A cheerleader for everyday,

Now fades in satisfaction’s factory

Sexual motif, Kama-sutra hieroglyphs.

Strike a pose purposely

Machinated machine

 

The Polish housekeeper sews

Gold threads where the seams have rips,

But the intensity of harsh seasons

Dulled the vibrancy that glinted in it once :

To mirror her savoir faire

 

“Young is a business” this from those thick headed,

Wrinkling in their own damage  

Demise of the wise; fancy delineations,

Financiers from distant cities, conventions to spy,

She once yearned to one day travel

where they boast and illustrate lavishly

Worlds outside

 

“So make as much money now while

Your looks still exist and keep in mind

Change is for costumes in showbiz, go big

Or go home"dig?”

Winks a droopy eye as lazy as his style

 

She has begun to believe that age rusts

The wisdom of men who give bad advice

 

And that he knows little

Of how she itches now

With every new stocking

She slides her legs into,

Lace no longer feels polite

On skin that she once caressed

With her own hands, admiring the smooth

Touch " now raised in the air like

A militant salute to hopeless nights.

 

Young is lost when business is all business

Withers at your very being,

But only until ma-ma can pay off

Those Russians or Nazi of lingering past

Who bully the streets, mobsters with erections,

Mafia of tired pimps, with the lingo

Of realtors but with knuckles

Not needing iron or reason to pilfer

 

Time to this young life careens like miles

Of a dangerous road to despair,

Especially when she has no knowledge

Of how to steer, no need to being here

Where dreams are disassembled by liars

And the dregs of slavery brainwashed

To think it the norm

Living like a butterfly forced to stay

A worm.

 

She learned to swim from a push

She mimics beauty from window dressings,

 

And fat crowds with fat pockets

Appreciate these dolls as their muse,

Validating their inadequate features,

Stamina, widening waistline, an indentured life,

With wives now plaster-harsh

To evening touch,

Time use to not be so crass and vicious

Wives use to love husbands without prerequisites.

 

But with each night

And the red lights blinking her inner distress

In the district of legalized copulated options

Sell the candy however much it is worth

She has yet to learn division or how to

And only adds the smells, the belching scratch

Of chest hairs and Boris-like weight

 

Sucking the simplest of thoughts

She once fantasized to detach herself in haste

Use to dream about castles,

That is how much she is worth, she thinks,

Like a place in the clouds equals her treasure

 

Sits on an aging satin covered daybed slowly

Opens black gloved drawbridge,

Chain-heavy legs wide

Like a scream which she does not know

How to let out,

Nor give reason to escape

 

This is what she once dreamed

Celebrity Barbie with hair of golden fleece

Popular to the wealth of drooling men

Her package of window dressed advertisement

Sells herself as she repents in sleep

 

Young turns old eventually,

It dims to then become nothing;

She feels it as a sigh drains her still

Even now just old enough fitting the bill

To play with, platonically speaking,

Porcelain, plastic dolls

That curves a body image

And supplies the essentials to be

A slave wearing her eyes

In sexuality,

Dismal and bored,

 

Cattle in the window

Castles in clouds

Life in a picturesque pose

Flash bulb! Snap shots!

Blind and regretful to tow

A choice not so easy as the toys

Once playful

 

Life in a jar of invisible

Mannequin beautiful that dives deep

And as painful to conceive:

 

Red light discounts her meaning

To be          

Light

To be

a girl

Just to be " joyful…

 

A tear is nothing to her now

Closing the silken curtains to attend a bite

Paradigm of beauty’s youth

Purchased like sustenance to vampires

With a sweet tooth

 

Oh to be in the light, she groans

Then faked moans from within her store

To be as it was, a do over, what she knew before

A girl too quick

With her eager-joyful-pom-poms

And high kicks.

 

Missionary and doggie style:

 

Down deep in cellar doors…

Dolls are damned to find no exits

Down, damned, dour

She knows how

To lay as lifeless in this war,

Because she has her place as a product,

A soul on the floor

Love by the hour / hopes no more.

Reviews

[Gandré]

Touch " now raised in the air like

A militant salute to hopeless nights.--- what a metaphor... loved this ..and this
Where dreams are disassembled by liars

And the dregs of slavery brainwashed

To think it the norm

Living like a butterfly forced to stay

A worm.----------------------------------------- what an image!

and this: Chain-heavy legs wide ------this poem is important for girls, it says - what is not to do! seeking fortune.. desire is doom. great job on this one.