voluptuous woman
embraced by the breeze,
by the breath
of my warm face on
the old photograph.
Comfortably leaning
on her thickness and strength,
resolute against the fabric
and the amorous air which
caresses her ample shape.
Forgotten mother
of misbegotten children
borne in sickness and despair,
emaciated models
sustained by Diet Cokes
and curious looks
that prelude the inevitable stares.
Diminished bodies
and souls. Frail
frames of discontent
staring blankly as from
the Second World War,
walking awkwardly
from their gas chamber
to the lifeless lights
of the runway floor.
Starving in magazines,
in destitute dreams,
not people, but hangers
for clothes (and souls)
wasting away
on size-zero beauty.
(c)David Lucas
published in Skipping Stones, 2007
Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA
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