Armani’d in the jeweled air
Flashing in the sequin glare
Of dappled see-through halter tops
Seen throughout the Capri’d shops,
Gucci glinting off the shows
Of flesh inside the dressed-up windows
Superbras and spandex straps
Underneath their disco wraps
That climb up boiling island thighs
And fall back down in swan-dive dyes,
The Buccellati panorama
Filling up with psychodrama,
Only Kookai and gelati
Covering the tourist body,
High noon conga on the via
Draped in sex and bougainvillea,
As Laetitia and Ivana
Pollenate the Quisisana,
Too much Fendi, Guess, and sky
For an unsophisticated eye:

Yet all the fashion on display
Above the equally outlandish bay,
Whether natural or crass,
Is captured in a pane of glass,
Where cold passions à la mode,
Like summer fireworks, explode,
And, lumped so close together, make
A real world from a costume fake,
The window pane’s transparent dance
Undressing starlets at a glance:
This world suits us if we view it
And at the same time see right through it.