Armani, who art in Heaven
Hallowed by your fame,
Thy Kingdom come, it will be done
On earth, as it is the game.
Avoid high Art, low life
Dramatists, designers and users;
Just for a start
They’re all complete losers.
Say The Brand is just a word,
Hallelujah, of the modern world?
Ensures against oblivion
To where the weak are hurdled;
Does the crudeness of wealth
Makes moral vision impaired
Their plight‘s no Secret
To workers, in poverty ensnared.
Contemplation becomes tedious
Try a simple guarantee,
That all could be lies
From A through to Zee;
The stories of the past
Time out to dine,
Much so as your future
Is already Calvin Klein.
Sweatshops synonymous with
With the good old days.
Just so many collections
In just so many ways,
Look where’ve you been
What’ve you missed?
So Mind the Gap,
Where Nike & Primark exist.
Hands bleed for a poultry sum
Working cashmere and brocade,
Exploitation the creation
Less the minimum rate paid;
Credentials of ignominy
Red carpet of shame,
Complaisance in the deceit
Now acknowledge the blame.
The factory vending machine
To owners, doling out cash,
As a radiant sunbeam
It’s all a responsibility crash;
So I could be numb
Racked with anticipation,
Yearning for the catwalk’s
And its total predation.
Haute Couture with passion
Crafted in acid tears,
Brave the impending snow
And the coming of years.
Fashion Week is possible
Maybe it does exist;
And the treasure of such lust
Which so few have kissed?
Ethical designers strive
For local sustainability;
Decent working conditions
And embrace tranquillity.
While others court the skinny models
It’s just an anorexic ruse,
In big Hamnett letters
NOW PAY YOU’RE DUES!
Be a Style Icon or an anonymous
So Hyper or a believer;
Of revelations so irrelevant
Self-sufficient or a deceiver.
With panache unrestrained
And salvation’s a passion,
Gosh darling!
You‘re just so high fashion.
The populist and eccentrics
Have immunity in court;
Yet the common man struggles
For justice sought.
Factory owners like hyenas
In fire traps they pose.
It maybe only High Street
But isn’t that blood, on your cloths?
