The makeup, gifted to your girlfriend, looks
good on you. It’s not the first time. On the carpet,
they have to comment on you, ***** approval
to stay lean, keep you cloud-floating.
                                                                ­ First,
lightly dab the eyelids with azure
stardust, glitter strings like wings out
from the corners. White shirt may look normal
but is designer baby, season’s income
on skin-clinging fabric, enhances
your slathered-on nectarine tan, abs
the Peloton made.
                                 THIS POEM
IS SPONSORED BY V/AIN. LOOK HOW
THIS APP AUTOMATICALLY EDITS
YOUR PHOTOS BEFORE YOU EDIT THEM FURTHER!
THE WALL IS WARPED? NO BOTHER! CLEAVAGE
TOO SMALL? NOW SMOOTHER AND ROUNDER!
USE DISCOUNT CODE ‘SOCALLEDINFLUENCER10’
FOR TEN PERCENT OFF.
                                         The balcony offers
an ideal view for photos, minimum of fifty.
You know it’s like shooting a plasticine movie,
moving your glossy features an inch at a time because
one bad move means one less like, one less
stranger misspelling their admiration.
Each emoji is a pellet of sugar, each five-digit
paycheque another two-page spread in the city’s
many gaudy rags, another slap in the face
to the barista making ends meet.
                                                           Oh who cares
darling? They serve, and so do you. The mirror
salivates at your sight, lips out, stench of wealth
enough to make any gaggle giddy.
Parade your brand of vain for the next-in-line,
Fahrenheit on the rise, the influence
on the ravenous nosebleed-inducing.