The Young Lovelies of Paris

The young women along
the rue Royale wear
pretense like diamonds.

Their eyes are cast into
an undefined distance,
their delicate chins
tilted upward and angled.

They promenade themselves
past tall windows of watches
that cost more than automobiles,
bracelets of amethyst and rubies,
necklaces to grace entitled necks. 

They sip their chocolate hot,
at Angelina on rue de Rivoli.

In their sparkly dreams they
are Marion Cotillard or
perhaps Brigitte Bardot.

They live sunny weekends while 
the boulevards are long parades, 
pulsing with people assessing 
whose label is affixed on a purse,
or in the collar of a silk blouse.

On Monday morning they
will make their return to Earth,
staring the day into bright screens,
clawing enough Euros for the rent, 
bearing the quotidian weight 
of vanilla and fluorescent light.

                   2024 Daniel Thomas Moran