I’ve been a fashion victim nearly all my life;
the Afghan coat did not live long but bangles I found then
forewarn jangled grandkids when Granny’s round the bend, again;
a Swatch, an 80’s must-have, still signifies my age;
I still wear kohl in navy while RayBans Aviators shade a faint disguise
for Varifocal lenses and a watering eye.
Dungarees, a uniform, I’m in my teens again,
date me and still dress me but find me tapestried,
wrapped within a collaged quilt of woven histories.