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
say prayers over the fashionisti
who worship at the shrines
of Gucci, Pucci, Armani.
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.