Milanesi mill about in busy strade

Eyes ahead, bound for work,

with barely a scusi,

avoiding the turisti, only here for il shopping

or some for la cultura.


The wedding cake Duomo

towers over the glass fronted galerie,

Its four thousand, four hundred

and forty-four angels

and saints

say prayers over the fashionisti

who worship at the shrines

of Gucci, Pucci, Armani.

Pristine signorine

in sartorial splendour

strut in and out through the shiny glass doors

of these chapels of style,

holding their offerings

of stiff paper bags

by their coloured cord handles

Maybe time for espresso, panini and texting

with manicured fingers

on tiny cellphones.


Inside the cathedral,

old women in mantillas

and unlabelled scarves, kneel on hard marble

counting on non-designer beads,

and talking to il Dio, through la Madonna

and Padre Pio.

They light their small candles

and dream of a heaven

without designer clothing.

The End

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