A Vision In Lace (Poetry)

“It’s not what you wear
                                it’s the way that you wear it...”
at least that’s what I’ve been told
so I take the fads and fashions — mix
the current with the old
and hunt the sales for bargains
shop at Oxfam — rummage deep
for out-of-dates and hardly-worns
and the rare designer-chic.

Through rails and rails of High Street rags —
those chain store ‘cheap and cheerfuls’
beads and bangles, bobbles, bows
and stuff too gaudy-awful
to give it houseroom... There among
the dross I once found treasure —
a six-foot length of antique lace —
success beyond all measure!

Amazed by such a stroke of luck
I bought it for five quid
my head crammed full of bright ideas —
my one bold stylish bid
to stun the world and with that thought
I cut and trimmed and sewed
and tarted-up a plain old frock
to frilly overload.

That New Romantic trend required
full gathers, folds and flounces
I double-stitched to hold in place
the pull of extra ounces
then wore my new creation to
a party — sure I’d shine
so keen to take the credit for
a look that was all mine.

It’s true I caused a minor stir —
most glanced whilst others stared
as though they couldn’t quite believe
the vision standing there.
I heard a mutter close at hand
(half-stifled by a cough)
“Good Grief, she’s wearing Great Aunt Lizzie’s
old lace table cloth!”

*****

These days I’m more conservative
less flashy — much less daring
and blush at the mere thought of frills
and folk all round-eyed staring.
I’ll pass on the odd fashion tip
as long as I am able —
lace rarely flatters — like as not
it looks best on the table!