my mom is like dude, italy

My mom thinks Ben would go beserk for the men's clothes.

skinny suits and swanky shoes.

The sailors in the sea-salted satin

fresh from Florence.

The thin bright ties like lemon yellow lightning

zapping ya like lemon juice to the eye, and

that hurts! But it's fashion.

Sailor fashion.

They'd clamber up the ratlines

to the catwalk

(all Italian shipping has a catwalk, not a crow's nest, that's the Truth)

the sailors lanky, knit, thin like bendy straws, their garnet cuff links burnished sailor fashion.

Too, Ben would go literally Ape You Know what

for the foot-casings, gleaming steel black polished shoes

that you buy with socks, just so you can throw the socks away.

When you buy a chrome silver sun-blinding Pagani Zonda C12 you don't get in a BODY SOCK

before you drive it

that would ruin the LINES.

Thus with the shoes.

They're supercars, submarines, musclemen, thoroughbreds, passionate,

anguished leather

prayers, cries, drools,

these shoes, each pair a nod to God.

Says my mom.

Tell Ben

if you see him.

Say these words verbatim

so he'll know he should obtain those clothes.