MARKETING MADAM





          Now she could wear a personal dresser with strategic fit.
          Jaguar red her hue and cry:  company auto, bolero, nails . . .
          Fought tooth and claw to board the executive.
          Her porkier package scraped the budget’s barrel.


          Noshing at Chaucer’s with other makers and shovers,
          she thrived on hyped ham and cocktails potent,
          bubble-nosed the A-team with Friday champers,
          then stretched the envelope with the boss’ secretant.


          Best practice?  Liposuction of the lingo:  stretch-marked
          stats, spritzy superlatives, value-subtracted abstractions.
          Trumpeting in brassy mags, embowered by proteas parked,
          even her laughter-lines decreased with promotion.


          One stiletto on the Ethics Committee, stencilled brows
          arch, she dismembered Ethos as a lame musketeer.
          Piggies’ bones her relics, she spurned the marrow,
          numbered crunches on her belt, Madam marketeer.

                                                                              Michael Small
             Nov 20-Dec 8, 2001
             Aug 26-Sep 2, 2005

             pub. Swag o’ Verse, December, 2002


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