I dream a dream of beauty queens,
lovely and young, all standing in line,
with long, silken tresses,
long blue-sequin dresses,
and dyed-to-match
stiletto-heeled shoes.
The trumpet sounds a fanfare,
each girl remembering
the rules for descending
the grand pageant staircase
when her turn comes around:
hold your head high,
flash a big, bright smile,
eyes on the audience…
and don’t look down.
Then I see the staircase
each young woman will
come down, down, down.
Without handrail or bannister,
sweeping royally wide
but treacherously steep,
each step but four inches deep,
fashioned of shining chrome
pierced with stiletto-sized holes.
Ann Keiffer
January, 2013
