Sequins stuttering like sunbursts
honey dewed hair thronging her shoulders
she spike-heels down the stairs
step after hip-swinging, split-skirt
slow, patent leather step
She’s only the tiniest bit overweight
but, after all the skeletal gossamer collections
the casual, flouncy entrances of undernourished models
following each other in pouting flat-breasted routines
she’s the sun after the rain, a peacock after
a school of scuttling storks, a chocolate mousse
reward for an uncompromising diet, Van Gogh rediscovered
after decades of minimalism —and she knows it!
Restored to her former glory, she sparkles at the audience,
laughs into the meteorite storm of adulation
—she’s the World’s Most Glamorous Granny!