Tailor Swift the Sartorial Satirist

In olden town with twone gone down livers leave lovers round and round
The butcher and pie-maker trades jeers and sweet meats
The librarian solves mysteries and dusts the microfiche
Then there’s the Swift woman, a mensch of a maker
She kneads and beads for rich folk to plead
For stocks and wares to wear where they dare
Such hues and melan collars drape the commons
Her name sewn in to stitches and things
Her fashion sells as fast as the word that spreads

She has prints that reflect and ones which picture
The people who darn her clothing features
The buyers need to be seen and reseen
The dresses and wraps are covered with their green
They look at each other looking at themselves
Eyes upon backs that model right back
See themselves in others but just a body in Swift’s
The tailor has everyone swooning for cuffs

She makes all glamorous and decorous too
A person no longer but a model in fact
She has made the fashion and made herself fashionable
She made the people into fashion rabble
Nothing in town but Swift’s ensemble


Three little girls
Four little girls
Seven little girls stuck on the crazy train blaring its way down Blueberry Lane off the path of Pennsylvania Avenue several steps past the Waterworks. Watery eyes stress salty cries down deep wells cordoned off too late. Make a fuss for safety when the story’s been broken, human fate to arrive late to the protection. Prideful outspoken and bleating hearts yelp for inclusion, leap for the camera at dour occasion.

Post new picture denoting censure, screaming fix this, condemn the nameless.
Do something do something, people should do something.
Holler and buck buck, little chickens without gumption following the assumption
That to make the hate dissipate
To change the ethos to match the mythos
We put on hurt faces and act to relate
Spread media message and denote pathos