Margaret’s Clothes

Margaret’s clothes aren’t sewn as much as colored, taped and stapled:

which started when a self-described cosmetic chromatologist

informed her (unsolicited): “the only color you should

ever wear, with that bad purplish skin, is pink.”

“That’s what you think,” Margaret said; thereby

that day (before she’d gone to bed) adhering to a pact 

that would begin a fierce campaign. She bought approximately

seven yards of variously patterned Orlon, magic markers, spray paint,

snap-on snaps and Velcro zippers: all to be meticulously stapled to her

debut outfit-with-a-cause, which on the morrow she would dare

to wear as her rebuttal to cosmetic chromatology’s decree

(and hope to sell): who said you can’t wear any hue

you wanted to? By now, though, not a one had sold

(although she makes another every day), and she’s no idea

how many prêt-à-porter smocks she’s got in stock she’d hoped

would shock and wake up all the human sheep who followed fashion

out of fear. So far in vain. It’s not that she’s not noticed. Oh, she is!

(Most people point.) But nobody has yet anointed her esthetic

and political and moral cause by calling out to her about

a single item of her clothes: “I want one of those!”

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