The year was 1969,
The Age of Aquarius,
She teetered on my platform heels,
With a gate precarious.
But time gave way to family,
So she would deposit,
Me in the deep recesses,
Of her walk in closet.
And one day while sorting out, She,
Gave a rueful smile,
Thinking it highly unlikely,
I’d return to style.
And so into the dark confines,
Of a donation drop,
I ended up gracing the shelves,
Of a local thrift shop.
Where the young girls would laugh at me,
And mock me and deplore,
And say “Oh God these look just like,
Some thing my mother wore.”
And after years spent on those shelves,
I ate the bitter pill,
Of being deemed unsellable,
And transferred to good will.
Where I stared at dingy walls, The,
Army of salvation,
Which without doubt marked the height,
Of my humiliation.
The laughter would continue,
And I would do my time,
With no one to dare to spring me,
For $1.99.
Until one day a girl came in,
And so did drop her jaw,
With a look not of derision,
But more like that of awe.
Exclaiming her excitement, She,
Could not believe her luck,
To have me in her clutches,
For a couple of bucks.
And treated me as a piece,
Of the utmost refinement,
And to the next thrift store I went,
But now on consignment.
They put me on a pedestal,
And just like days of yore,
I was treated as the finest,
Item in the store.
Until that fateful day came by,
And I was blown over,
As who did walk into the shop,
But my dear first owner!
Who looked me over wondering,
Although she did not know,
Whether I could be that same pair,
That she wore years ago.
But either way she insisted,
And tried to make an offer,
Resolute was she to bring me,
On home to her daughter.
Alas no deal was made that day,
So ended the exchange,
My vintage status valued me,
Well out of her price range.
This poem is dedicated to my sole sister and fellow blogger Joanne Sisco at https://mylifelivedfull.wordpress.com/
