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AVANT-GARDE

by Patricia Carragon

Iron-wrought façades,
Cobblestones set in asphalt,
She walks along Mercer,
Past Broome -
A Queens princess,
Slightly worn at the tips
Like her Macy's shoes.

Her hair's
Fashionably straight,
But her course roots
Prefer crooked streets.
She can dress in retail fantasy
But the truth forbids her
To be an actress 24/7.
Women,
Imitations of art,
Pass her.
Their pedigree bitches
Sniff shit
Like the mutts in Queens.

She stops by a boutique -
The coiffured mannequin
Wears an avant-garde uniform -
Too expensive
And out of her class.

She has dreams
Two sizes too large.
She clenches a binder from Staples,
Heavy with dog-eared pages
Stained in wine
And tension.
Her computerized script
Rides the nightmare
Of city life.

The coiffured mannequin
Wears an avant-garde uniform -
Still too expensive
And out of her class.
Should she wait for a sale
Or use her credit card?
But the dress isn't for sale,
Nor is she.
She heads for the subway
At Prince
And Broadway -
A Queens princess,
Slightly worn at the tips
Like her Macy's shoes.

 



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