Challenge: Revolution

Mr Dior’s Revolution.

New Look hourglass silk
shushing swirl skirt
sensuous joy in post war drear.

Paris. February 12, 1947.
Ten thirty in the morning.
Where tanks rolled bloody two years before
hot house blooms strewn pretty and bright.
“It’s quite a revolution, dear Christian,
your dresses have such a new look.”

A revolution so singularly extolled.
One man’s freedom fight, another man’s terrorism.
Was Rosy the Riveter happy to swirl her new skirts?
Stay, said my grandfather and the groping uncles,
breed and build a new world.
My mother fled to the ends of the earth.

What will you do when you grow up, darling?
Little girly brain thrilled at volcanoes,
followed continental plates
spinning round the planet.
So wondrous, the expanding universe.
Hairdressing would suit you.
She’s such a selfish girl,
does what she wants.

My nephew follows his grandmother muse.
Designs shushing swirl shirts
for luxury department stores
failing in this toxic covid new world.
His sister, fled back to the dreaming spires
of the old world, finishes her PhD
in the mathematics of contagious diseases.
Atop my banned ivory tower
comfortable in baggy old Chanel.
Bristling, glittering black tweed
arsenal in cotton moth bags.
Armour for an eternal revolution.

Merrildsmith on dVerse has made a call to revolution.

Revolutionary Rules:
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