A tool kit, socket wrench, needle-nosed pliers.
an etui, a Coach Purse, P.F. Flyers.
A measuring tape rolled out to arm's length,
or any other tool or rigging that you might invent,
a Ms. with a vantage point
truly heaven sent.
A Vera Scarf,, cultured pearls, and Ray Bans
for good measure.
A huntress stalking musty, dust filled bins
in search of hidden treasure.
Bandita, you pluck lost riches from thrift store shelves,
Orphaned jewels left behind
by misbegotten elves.
When asked, you said your favorite designers
weren't Versace or Chanel.
Instead, you were drawn to color and pattern
with a mix of fine detail.
Your interests were more vested in all manner
of vintage attire.
Careful to avoid the specious terms
'trendy' and 'designer'.
When lesser fashion mavens rolled their eyes or
tipped their cap.
And dismissed you with a 'Ma'am,
I've heard about enough of that'.
You knew they wouldn't hire you
fearing they could never wear your hat.
Honest quality, you said,
too often sits dustbin lonesome on the shelves.
Whereas lesser merchandise flying off the rack
pretty much smells.
You speak your truth with prairie plain talk.
Your descriptions are my mountain view.
Your stories bend my river and stream.
With sentence and verse
you've built my log cabin home
Your radar tracks my frequency
Until I'm discovered and
you hone in for a surgical strike.
Captured,, netted, analyzed and catalogued
I am pinned into place.
Remind me, once again
what a deliciously, rare.,
find I am
for your butterfly collection...
Buddy Bee Anthony
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