I am only half materialist, I‘d say
As I grasp this pile of designer fabrics
At the front of the Bloomie’s line today.
There are problems in the world, new and historic.
Betsey, Christian, Michael, Calvin, Kate,
All beckon me like old friends at a party
Making me want to hurry up and pay so I won’t be late.
The numbers swirl-“Add the Ed Hardy!”
My one time pleasure turns into a drug
With stages of withdrawal pushing me into debt.
“Do you make that in a coat, a skirt, a lamp, a mug?”
But the big red numbers stress my regret.
I resort to hanging clothes on my bed
As my room is transforming into a couture distortion.
And as I wear all the garments on my head
My life becomes a mess of Shopaholic proportion.