The Blue Jeans

Brand-labelled, yet earthy,
The blue jeans reigns
Among the youthful togs,
Supremely assuring
The vacuous youth
Of his machismo
And her sensuality.

But this Levi-Strauss concoction
Was nothing but the cowhands’ wear
To muck around in barns and fields,
In all the mires and manure;
And, in all the climes, its toughness a legend,
Its wear and tear needed no consideration.
Akin to tough hide and
Hideous in hue of washed out blue,
The blue jeans was no fashion plate!

Yet, glorified by Calvin Kline
And others of that ilk,
Teens pour their nether limbs
Into the twin pipes of blue denim.
Whether pumice-knocked
Or acid-worn or both-
Frayed with careful care
And not with wear,
Loose-hipped or hip-hugged,
The blue jeans heads the triumphal march
From practicality to glamour-wear,
From rural scene to urban chic-
A fashion nexus and a teen uniform!

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All That Glitter

The khaki-clad guard salaamed
And opened the gleaming doors
Into Aladdin’s cave-
Bangles and bracelets
And rings and earrings
Winked at eager-eyed women
Who sat in red velvet chairs;
Round arms, waiting necks,
And ready fingers tried again
And again the golden wares.
Men, in careful boredom,
Watched the buyers- not
The wives, sisters, and mothers,
But the errant pretty face-
A fair neck here, and a white arm there-
The faces glowed, the jewels shone,
And money rolled in indulgent excess.
Solomon alone can stand
Against a jewelry store’s splendor!