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Harrods by night, like London,
is a beautiful sight;
and rich, very rich,
to judge from what goes on inside
even at this late hour,
which is nothing but
the opulence of what's on display,
the twinkling lights poised
over the polished floors
in hushed departments:
Gentlemen's wear, Perfumery,
Ladies' Wear, Jewellery:
here the show goes on
with an inbuilt momentum
of style, of statement;
a very real sense of the fantasy
of the toys coming out to play, but
in absolute motionlessness.
The manikins with their
thicker than human hair coiffures,
un-relaxed ease of posture
showing what life-like is meant to be,
by some trick of anthrop morphology
steal the show; that, and reveal
the show for what it is:
the night guard, checking
the doors are closed, humours
their preciousness, and, in the rattle,
the world behind them. |
