Stately shawls of an especial color parade
on the boulevard. Like a holiday
on which those Proustian ladies
show off their finery,
we aspire to that rare dignity
of turn of the century elegance,
now losing itself in a drab grey sameness
amongst the millions. Oh, how I crave
for that Romantic spectacle, for some odd
stranger to exclaim, “That’s so beautiful!”,
and not to be the subject of denigrating looks
and sub-vocal, but slyly obvious snickers,
to speak out loud, as prominent as a poster,
as blatant as a billboard.