by Maureen Mancini Amaturo

I crave Valentino and Versace
Vivienne Westwood and Givenchy,
but my pockets are so empty,
not a dollar to my name.
I can only window shop and 
watch others try on tops 
and cull shoes and skirts and dresses.
Poor me, I feel so shamed.

As I gaze through Bergdorf’s window 
where Ralph Lauren hangs there next to
Calvin Klein and YSL
my heart slithers to the floor.
If only I could twirl in
be a happy well-dressed girl in
de la Renta or Dior.
But my bank account is empty,
and my salary’s far from plenty,
so I’m wearing clothes from Walmart
discounts, clearance.
Nothing more.

If I had a pretty penny
I’d be shopping all the many
chic designers that I drool for
on Saks’ luscious seventh floor.
But I’m barred from higher price tags
dressed in polyester sad rags
and still wishing Saint Chanel would
send a miracle my way.
Will no one ever see me
wearing Prada or Armani?
Must I schlep through streets and sidewalks
dressed in tattered jeans, all frayed?

Couture goddesses, please hear me,
send a windfall that will cheer me
send some magic to my closet — or my wallet
is good, too.
All I ask is one small favor
that I may one day savor
walking past the local Target
wearing Jimmy Choo.