Now in my ill-fitting slacks, thread-bare tank
Brassy blonde hair & roots to boot.
(Who can afford a stylist anymore?)
She's got a smile on her face--
But anyone close enough can see
How tightly she's got it stretched--
She'll need thearapy after this act.
Love those high heeled shoes--
Three years ago, they were fine,
And still, from a distance, one can't see
The places where the Sharpie
Has attempted to make the worn places
Look new again with a cheap trick of the eye.
Bless her, there are moments when
She still resembles the Fashionista she was.
One eye closed and squint with the other,
And maybe focus just from the neck up,
Yes, you can nearly see the she
She used to be: This former glamour girl.
Sometimes, you will catch her
Still walking like one, talking like one,
Using make-up tricks and actually
Looking like one, every now and then.
On nights like this one, she reflects,
Perhaps foolishly, on who she used to be
And who she appears to be now.
(A woman who sees herself in third person.)
How long can she bear to look at this,
How long can she endure this broken down
State of affairs that it has all turned out to be?
If only I knew how to ask her candidly.
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