The Pants

Their predecessors had been devoured
By a jealous world
A swirling, glorious black confection
That fluttered around my legs
They sat alongside the tuxedos
Of the Indianapolis Symphony
And they crossed the boards with pride
As Cady Stanton’s latter-day bloomers

I quested for years to find
The perfect replacements
Stores, catalogues, websites
I left empty-handed
Classy, fun
In classic black
My personal spin
On the little dress

One day they called to me
From the holiday sale rack
Draping with the perfect weight
And some tasteful beading
Once again my legs could sway
Within their breezy cocoon
And swish o’er the tops
Of my cutest shoes