By Andrew R. Duckworth
When you go to a fancy restaurant,
Whether Vegas, New York, Rome, or Paris,
Don’t be surprised by the looks they give
When you show up in jeans.
When you open the menu,
Don’t be surprised
When even the hors d’oeuvres are more than 50.
And, when you go to the bathroom,
Let the guy turn on the sink.
Let him offer you a towel.
Make sure to tip.
And, for the love of all things holy,
Know your utensils at the dinner table!
If you go to a couture boutique
They’ll give you the stink-eye
For at least ten minutes
Before a worker,
Rather uncomfortably,
Approaches and says
“Ummm… what might you be purchasing today?”
The more you touch the display clothing,
The more uncomfortable they’ll become,
Shifting anxiously from side to side,
Gritting their teeth,
As if the plague was all over your person
And you were transmitting contagious poor germs.
If you go to a custom boot boutique
And you’re not a country music legend
Or don’t have an in with a known customer
That already purchased $80,000 boots,
Just get the hell out while you’re ahead.
Southern welcome and southern manner
Are nowhere to be found.
When you get invited to the party at the villa,
Your friend you made the day of
Will tell you exactly what you need to wear,
They’ll pull out their colognes
And tell you which ones pair with fine tobacco.
What?
No Armani?
No Versace?
Not even Gucci?
Your friend will scramble.
They’ll search their closet.
Pants a bit too loose,
Jacket okay,
But it will have to do.
After all, you sort of brought this on.
High society is as high society does,
And it most certainly is not what it is not,
And it is not you.
When you get home,
Put on some comfortable clothes.
Put on a good movie.
Grab the cheap beer from the fridge,
And thank your God that you’re not like that.
Poetry of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 