Days Of Mittens Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

What happened to minks and chinchillas
Snug earmuffs resembling Brillos
Days fine folks wore skins made of otters
And watched shows like 'Welcome back Cotter? '

Oh, for the days when tight corsets
And scarves made of down shorn from Dorsets
Topped furry chapeaus sporting feathers
And marmoset muffs stayed cold weather

Ripped blue jeans are what girls now borrow
They claim piercing noses lifts sorrow
Such awful tattoos mark their buttocks
They spurn wearing cotton-knit white socks

How awful for old folks to ponder
That gals of the hour can just wander
To restaurants, movies, sans escorts
Clad only in shockingly short shorts

Give us the old days, I am yearning
When nobody mentioned bra burning
I miss those pouffed skirts of horse feathers
And pooh-pooh that ghastly tight leather

Oh, where are the days when a furrier
Could go on vacation much merrier
Convinced unborn caracul creatures
Small sacrifice were to high couture?

For spiders the web’s surely better
Why, people no longer pen letters
They focus on handheld devices
And tinker with cyberspace vices

Oh, where are the days when a nickel
Could buy you an acre on Brickell
Why, for a small sum, a mere pittance,
You owned a fine suit with red mittens?

This world is most surely in trouble
It likely will burst like a bubble
Space rockets now threaten serene scenes
Of cows jumping over bright moonbeams

Oh, give me the days when fine tailors
Sewed suits making lads look like sailors
When mothers refused to snip boys' locks
Until they were grown, or got smallpox

I wish there was more time for whining
But I have a date with 'The Shining, '
So scary a flick, it may bludgeon
And cure this old sour curmudgeon.