Contributor Series 10: Silken Rags
White Masks
By Nicole Poulain Garcia
Funny how these things
Come in gold, or silver trimming
When we all know–at least those who are honest
That all of it is for show
Just flash and gleam.
Sure, it must be the high life,
It must be all it’s chopped up to be.
I wonder why every time
I open the envelope
Knowing the liars,
I go all the same.
And we arrive in all our glamour,
Our pomp–
Polished manners,
Simpers and kisses–ideas of romp.
Mrs. Ford is just as happy today,
Wearing funeral black.
Perhaps in anticipation
Of divorce; Mr. Ford blissfully unaware.
Hot-shot Phillips looks just as slick
As a newly shed snake.
Looks excellent
In blood-red and black–but I must be courteous,
After all, my friend has already bought the wedding cake.
And young Miss Kitty
Dress torn in half–
Heaven help us, nearly her whole left side missing.
But sure,
The men love half a woman.
And Mrs. Fox, with yellow streaks through her hair,
Looks like the cat got in a fight.
Nothing fits better,
Though at odds at the wrinkles,
Coming unbotoxed.
Perhaps the streaks are scars from her tearing her hair out.
Possible.
Wonder if they all know that dear old Mrs. Weatherby
Sitting there like a classic, loved dame
Is right in the process of stealing all their money,
This way and that.
But who cares.
We’re eating from china,
And sterling silver,
Devouring caviar,
And truffle drowned in heaven knows what.
No doubt it will give us gas.
Look, even the table cloth is spotless. Absolutely sinless.
Can’t say for after,
After all of the subtle venom we’ll drop.
Well, maybe not me.
I guess I know why I always come,
To watch the show.
After all, it’s not like dog fighting.
It’s just polite stabbing in the back.
Nicole Poulain Garcia’s poem Cricket in the Hallway appeared here in November 2011.
