Poetry by Janet

Petticoats and petticoats
Ones that rustle; ones that swish
The magic of frou-frou;
Petticoats of taffeta, petticoats of satin and silk;
Petticoats with tiers - tiers upon tiers,
each tier edged with lace and decorated with ribbons and bows.
Petticoats with furbelows and fal-ballas.
Petticoats of cambric and broderie anglaise
which are stiffly starched and ironed, which crackle like a nurse's apron.
Petticoats with ruffles and flounces.
Petticoats with layer upon layer of stiff net or organdy or cristal.
Petticoats of paper nylon which whisper with every smallest movement - steeped in sugar solution to make them so stiff and "sticky-out".
Petticoats of acetate and shark-skin which sound like liquid.
Petticoats which are voluminous and magnificently full - so wide that my lady's skirt stands out as wide as the door.
Can-can or crinoline: how full they are - the skirts billow like a galleon in full sail as her high heels click down the street, and that circle skirt bobs up and down with the rhythm of her walk.
Multi-coloured petticoats, each layer different:
pink, magenta, green, yellow, and blues.
I wonder how many my lady's wearing:
perhaps, six? I catch a glimpse of a flounced hem -
No - it must be more. Perhaps she's wearing a hoop or two.
Perhaps it's one of those odd ones which have a to be blown up
with a bike pump.
What happens if it's windy I wonder? Will it be like Marilyn?
Petticoats which are bouffant, ready for a ball gown
or a prom dress. Oo, look, I can see an opera top, with a frill of nylon,
net and lace. I wonder how full the its skirt is, and whether it has
a long side zip to give a snug fit.

And here's the naughty nursery maid in a shimmering satin dress with a tight bodice and a row of tiny buttons over her full bosom.
Oh! She walks up the stairs, and I see that she's wearing
black net petticoats, and there must be two black taffeta ones as well.
Her skirt's so full there must be 80 yards of net under there.
She's wearing a stiffly starched pinafore
with many frills which rustles and crackles like the petticoats underneath.
I feel envious of little Ronnie. I wonder if she ever puts him across her knee
when he's naughty. What a thrill that would be!
But now there's a dance. I choose Lucy, she's got a blue dress with a fitted bodice and puffed sleeves.

But my, O my, it's got a pleated skirt. And what a skirt!
It's made of rayon, I think, and it's so wide. It must be five feet wide at the hem. It's got myriads of pleats exuding from her tightly belted waist, cascading down to just ten inches off the floor, where I can see her blue high heeled shoes peeping out as she sat at the edge of the hall.

And, you've guessed it! She's wearing bright blue multi-layer paper nylon petticoat, and a light blue one of net. I know, I watched her as she sat there at the side of the hall waiting to dance.
The dance is a waltz. As I take Lucy for the dance, I cannot get near her. I hear her rustle and swish as as we dance, and I feel her voluminous skirts brushing against my legs, and, as I hold her waist, I can feel the boning of a girdle underneath.

How exciting all this hidden clothing is! Oh, how I wish I could experience it myself!

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