Philip A Waterhouse
Ladies casual dresswear color catalogues.
In mail boxes.
Of (un)attached males.
Caftan prints, tantalizing
graceful Levalloisian flow with tender forefront
shirring and dainty Capello basting accentuate
the subtlety—to paraphrase catalogue sales copy
that impels studs to study photos
of a live model—of enticing three-quarter-length
loose bell sleeves, unresisting full-front zipper,
child-play pearlized button & loop at the throat
perfect for lounging around in—and
imagine the lissome brunette lounge
sinuous drapery over bare toes and no hidden
body armor it said—‘But not on my watch!’—
reaction to further words descripting
the gown as also being intended
for entertaining troops …no-no: house guests,
all the way down-gown
for the hostess of everyman’s nocturnal fancies
to prowl around in their little love nest -ah-haexclusive
at last, no party-crashers to maneuver
to the door asap, sweaty sexist hogs.
—from Rattle #22, Winter 2004