She owned a jumpsuit when it was first fashionable:
Shimmering silk, dark green, brown buttons, broad belt around the waist,
No sleeves. What an armour when matched with patent leather pumps
And the necklace from which a diamond-studded tiger hung, suspended.
How I pitied that cat, needled tightly through a golden ring
Head, paws and tail dangling down on either side, its waist so thin.
This beautiful creature, caught as the cat in a golden ring:
Married a man of the circus, man of magic, man of zing.
The tiger lies asleep now in its velvet box.
Woman now, I see she shed the ring. No armour now, now skin.