Seasonal
       

Behind the deep-brown evening gowns
of last year's Oscars, the shadows of deer
pervade the dim-lit roads. They are everywhere,
starved from recesses by gated estates

as near-miss spectres in the iridescent,
midnight gloam, They must be either fed or shot,
depending upon the town committee. Flowerbeds
are at risk, and flowers have immunity,

whereas deer are "thinned" and, yet,
Bjork's swan dress will never end; years
will retrieve that red-carpet splash, the smile
so innocent, so fashion-savvy. Style's

a weird category: what stays, what goes—
the taste of venison, a taste for clothes.

Copyright © 2010 Star Black All rights reserved
from Velleity's Shade
Saturnalia Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission