Beauty Was Her Calling
She was always busy being a beauty,
and paused only from her self-regarding,
her purr and pouting,
to turn to a mirror
but if she had a slight pucker
at the corner of her mouth
she would dash the looking-glass down
and frown.
It was her work, her Calling.
Every second her appearance
must be perfectly recorded,
painted by a perfect lighting.
On the whole
she was quite a doll
and worth a long look.
Of course a low self-worth
was her secret
it spoke of her reality,
a reality she loathed.
Yet she was plucky marionet,
would dazzle and smile once more
for a lens to adore,
her ego once more fed
a lightbulb she screwed down tight
inside her pretty head.
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