Fashion and the Fat Girl

She's pretty if you think about it, if you let your eyes go

if you put away your vision of hair blowing, turning in wind

machine wind

with eyes closed hugging herself: make it her:

The tiny red bow attached to her red bra which peeks out from her

linen blouse

-they're ripe breasts, after all-is evocative if you feel your way

You can see how it would be attractive

(some men), you think, sure.

Her slow, slow gait is not subtle. Bovine legs, lips.

A painter would want to paint you, someone says to her.

Her curves, yes, are mountainous. Out of style, nonetheless.

Her fashion is fat fashion, let's face it

Large in a fur coat: Masoch's fate, Sade's wisdom.

It's only pastel, pastime, part-time sensual, let's face it.

Don't ever let's see it.

Her face is a fat face in a chocolate bar, let's face it.

No one hugs her around the hips and places his face in her ur

let's face it. She's no one's ur-lover except in

reflection, let's face it. Amazon walking purposelessly looking

purposeful, let's face it. Her cosmetic comedy inflicted into her skin

is depressing, let's face it. Her comedy, which is tragedy,

is driving no one wild, let's face it. If you think about her if you think

about her which you do only if she is facing you across

the spaghetti dinner you ordered lonely together on your evening

away from a real life, she has no backbone.

She has a life, if you think about it.

If you feel your way into it, she's attractive, but you would never

touch it, it's too complicated, all that wanting not wanting

wanting not wanting is the way you think she feels it.

Those arms around her hips: it isn't for you, it isn't for her. What was it

the art critic you heard said about past portraits of naked fleshy

women: they had strength, power

he said. But who, today, believes it?

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jul/Aug 1996
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved