I thought moments like these suddenly appeared
In puffs of pink , flimsy, clinging smoke
Poof! And you are transformed
Into something out of a fairy tale
But suddenly, it seems this isn’t quite true
My vintage dreams confined to a poster
Plastered somewhere far, far away
Under the gigantic, hanging spring sky
When I feel as though even baggy shirts and old jeans
Add a little old-world charm to me
And wavy, tousled hair can be lovely too
So can loafers and curves and unmade-up eyes
Isn’t it okay to just be out on a summer day
Cycling under the heat and smiling into an old camera
Where you can’t delete the photograph, once taken
And an ugly smile or closed eyes would last forever?
Isn’t it okay to just let chipped nails last a few days more
Without rushing through the motion with the intensity
Of panic that would match the amount required for a national calamity
Or a natural disaster?
Isn’t it okay if laundered shirts are un-ironed
And I carry some unwanted holiday fat
Or gorge myself silly on cake with my girlfriends?
Why stop just there, then?
Why should it matter what I think or feel
When all the world wants is to pop their eyes out and see
It’s all about keeping up appearances anyway
Flash a smile, or your body
It’s just about the same thing because someone will come along either way
Your mind doesn’t matter, nor your soul
Just the constant, ever-glowing youthfulness
That induces women to go to lengths they wouldn’t dream of
For thirty seconds in the smoky haze under the spotlight
Until the next twenty-something comes along
And all the men look that way instead.