MY MOTHER'S EYES

My mother had eyes
In back of her head
Her ears were antennae
It often was said.

Our house was a minefield
Kids running about
The place was in chaos
Mom needed her clout.

Four rowdy young boys
And me, the house queen,
Mom must have wondered
Was it nightmare or dream.

Her piercing brown eyes
And ears ever a-twitch
Led us to wonder
Was Mother a witch?

But, far from a witch
She was surely a saint,
Despite searing eyes,
Mothering's not for the faint.

by: Gigi

FASHIONISTA

Shopping, shopping,
Always shopping,
The quest for cool
Once kept me hopping.

Bloomie's, Saks,
And Neiman M.,
Meccas on Fifth,
Jeez, they were gems.

Gloves and garb,
Heels and hats,
The time it took
Just drove me bats.

But dressed to kill,
When date night came,
Some lad would whistle
"Wow! What a dame!"

Now if a chap says such a thing,
I'm mighty piqued
And up in arms,
But in the day, it sounded sweet.

'Bye, 'Bye, Gimbel's
I live in Jeans,
Fifth Ave chic,
Is a cast-off dream!

by: Gigi