The Dresses

The dresses are all made of paper,
They sparkle, they twinkle, they shine.
You hiccup, my friend,
And that is the end of the line.
The hems and the bindings are skimpy,
The needles make holes that last,
They hang like a stone, they just aren't sewn,
They are cast.
On the hangers they look like they're something,
They disintegrate under your eyes,
They're skimpy and small
But the price tags are all over size,
I seek something graceful and simple,
I try every dress shop in town
For a frock or a sheath
That won't bust when I breathe,
But I'll just have to sew up my own,
From the dish towels my ma handed down.