Catching The Stars
Poem By Therese Pace
I do the catwalk stunt on the red carpet
Naomi Campbell style, enchantment
blending me in with the surroundings.
The crowd breaks the ice in shimmering
parures that thin the average pocket.
Remind me I'm a fish out of the water.
I could cross my legs forever in relax on
this glistening Louis Quatorze armchair,
slowly kissing Zwarowski crystal rims
that quench vinotheque thirst. Usually I
scoff at silver service manners. Today,
cathing the stars, I relish. Slightly giddy
from the Kleine Zalze Chardonnay and
princely charm beside me, paté de fois de
gibier tastes like Paradise lost and found.
He swirls me round in a Viennese waltz
too rapid for my tipsiness. I sway towards
his midriff pretending to forget that flirting
in public is an etiquette crime. On the hour
of midnight, I will not drop a silver shoe
and scurry. Instead, I will let off a whiff of
IN2U and vanish. Its woody oriental scent
will guide his still perked ferret nostrils to me,
unable (as Calvin Klein believes) to fight a fillip.