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The new woman wore a red cloak lined in the prettiest blue satin.
I wondered if she had a pattern, for this would be a wonderful patent.
I did not know her name, but her style was ever apparent to me.
I knew she was from a faraway exotic place like New York City.

Her shoes were something we only saw in the best magazines.
Did she know that she came across like one of those fashionista queens?
It’s a fluke, my neighbor whispered. She will be dowdy like us next week.
When she walked into church her glorious ensemble made my voice squeak.

She’s amazing, a gypsy, a super woman, a model, I screamed out.
Get ahold of yourself, my neighbor whispered. She is probably a lout.
But she was sweet and sincere, as pretty inside as her clothes.
We learned to love her, this woman who was as honest as wind blows.

The fact that she knew how to dress did not make her braggy or mean.
She was truly one of the nicest women our town had ever seen.
We were so sad when she moved away in the middle of the night.
Taking her fashion tips and her clothes, and her attitude so light.


Written 11-3-2019
Contest: Fashion Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward

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