Flaunting flounces formerly forbidden,
Undaunted while using the unusually ugly,
The campus coed made her daily debut as though
She were a “come-alive” from the pages of Ingenue.
Increasingly losing inherent identity,
Copiously copying current creativity,
Young ladies unfalteringly followed
The Mary Quant look … anywhere.
Monotonously mimicking the models’ mini,
Flagrantly forgetting figure fouls,
The tall girl appeared as a grasshopper,
The short girl as a stump.
Assuredly aware of admirer’s awe,
Hideously hiking to horrendous heights,
The mini caught like wildfire, and seemed
To be a permanent fashion fixture.
Seriously stymied by the static state,
Paris promptly previewed pandemonium.
The new skirt lengths shot down, and the stores
Became flooded with the midi.
Dogmatically dodging young men’s dissent,
Carefully compiling creative combinations,
The “real” girl emerged—just
Like Yves St. Laurent designed her!
Vicious visions virtually verified
Images impossibly initiated;
The tall girl now appeared at least eight feet.
The short girl? Perfectly square.
Of course, observing other oddities
Presented promptly by Paris promoters,
Granny glasses and shoes from the 40s,
Raged as the look of 71.
Assuredly assuming the apparent,
Frightfully forecasting the future,
What’s left for this year?
Skirts above and blouses below?
In Answer to Birth Control
Where would we be
And what would we do
If the Lord had decided
That he’d stop at two?
The Grammarian’s Love Poem
The subjects of my sentences
Have all at once switched case.
For every “I” that was before
A “You” is in its place.
All old hurts are forgotten;
I’ve learned another tense.
For all the “has beens” in the past
You make a recompense.
Over petty aggravations
You have a sorcery,
For like a subject and a verb
The two of us agree.
You bring out all the good traits
That no one else pursued.
No more “If I had someone,”
No more subjunctive mood.
So I’ll use a complex sentence
To illustrate my cause.
I’ve suddenly discovered
You’re my independent clause.