POEM: Pink Peter - Personal Shopper to the Rich and Famous.

So theatrical, "East of Hyde Park, Darling,
North of the river, in London West 1."
Residence of Peter Pan and all of his lost boys,
On the support of 'salon' and 'boutique' they depend,
Lost inside their London of updated Neverland,
Little boys never have to admit to being men.

Boys who idolise their 'mummies dear'
With their worst fear coping when she is gone,
The collagen pumped lips purse in consternation,
Presenting best side, pride in their appearance,
Mirror checks the tears that spring to eye,
with their mummy, age falls away to three.

A costume designer for 'drag act' guys,
The hairless beauties with deep timbered voice,
Confusion caused as people think "Good God how?"
He enjoys his dancing, a tango class in Clapham
Considerably camp but also a married man,
With his 'dragging' hey days far behind.

Fashion stylist of the beautiful people,
Not all feathers, tantrums, and fur that flies,
Attentive to every detail to perfect their famous form,
An Haute Couture personal shopper to the stars,
Break his rules with indiscretion and he'll declare,
"I'm bored, I'm going," and leave you cold.

Pink Peter is heterosexual to his core,
Nonchalantly draped in velvet tasselled scarf
His taste runs to candy-floss pink in his home and car,
A proudly clever man who won't deny himself.
"Can I confuse ladies into bed? It could be said."
But how many are confused out of it instead?

One lost boy will never discuss any other,
An unspoken pact, a veneer over their distaste
Of male models with blonde best friends who bitch,
Opinions are charged, minefield rarely crossed,
In fear of limbs severed by the sarcastic bite,
"You look wonderful, but do tell..."
Never!