Window Dressing (Poetry)

It caught my eye — plum-centre of the window
its fabric swirl and colour all aflame
I gazed — enamoured — searching for the price tag
in awe of the designer’s famous name.

Inside the shop, I searched along the dress rails
but there, before I’d reached that splash of red
another customer had grabbed the garment
and held it to her, making me stop dead.

I wish that I could say that she was gorgeous
or even, hand on heart, that she was plain
but overweight and galleon-bold her paint job
she’d plenty bosom, clearly little brain.

And when she spoke, I winced — imagination
painted such a picture in my head
with “Hey, whatcha think? — This one’s kind of sexy!”
I didn’t hear what her companion said.

He didn’t seem at all enthusiastic
she shrugged, then shoved the hapless garment back
moved off and left a sickly pall of perfume
hovering around the tainted rack.

Quite suddenly, the dress had lost its glamour
and I admit, I’m probably a snob
I found I couldn’t separate that image —
the frock from her so over-lipsticked gob.

I left the shop, completely disenchanted
then wondered — would a robin feel the same
if a common sparrow tried his suit of feathers?
Would he change his whistle? Quit the posing game?