Diamonds

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, and

there they are—Diamonds, throned

upon a golden stud, glitter beneath

chandelier over red carpet, illuminate the

mesmeric azul of her irises, scintillate

supplication O lord look over here,

O my, how lovely you are tonight, dear.

I never knew you were so beautiful. Diamonds.

 

Diamonds are girl’s best friend, and

there they are—eighteen carat diamond

studded bronze/gold bracelet on

Home Shopping Network. Slouched,

faded blue velvet, glimmer/shimmer under

studio glare. Thousands of women all over the world

sigh with bored envy at $239.99

that tightwad husbands would never spend on them. Diamonds.

 

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, and

there they are—earth-dusted diamonds

wheelbarrowed out from the yawn of crepuscular chasms

in South Africa, to be cleaned and sorted

by sooted, callused palms, rough

from handling heavy stones. The sun

hammers merciless rays upon strong backs

lifting sacks of jewels into thundering trucks. Diamonds.

 

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, and

there they are—diamond stippled

petroleum probe masticates the

somber depths of everything forgotten. Diamond

molars grind the unfathomable recesses

beneath our feet for blackness to inject unsanitary

needles into the pulse of the world. Diamond jowls

swirl the earth around in their mouth, spit into

sink. Diamonds.

 

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, and

there they are—murky, embryonic diamond’s

swelling umbilical cord one deep mile

beneath the infinitesimal womb of

the world. They are restless,

one day they shall grow strong

and white, and kick themselves up

to the surface, stillborn, screaming, smiling, eager

to please. Diamonds.