A golden moment of glee
When the cuticle covered the fingertip
Thus ready to adorn with
A multitude of glossy tints
Make my humble hands
To resemble at least in part
Those of Aphrodite’s favourite children
I trimmed and filed, then
Painted the hard convex canvas
With placid strokes of paint
Fantasizing such imminent moments
When my hand would be marveled at
By amorous men and their envious women
For a cause barring its purpose
I twisted, turned, waved
Or gently rested atop a slab
Simply admired the radiance
Flinched to exert my hands
But for delicate deeds
Little of consequence
More for allure
Hardly did I fathom
That this fortune for my fingers
Was but a fleeting fate
Just days after I painted
This live masterpiece
Tiny flakes chipped off my nails
Minor blemishes, but beckoning
The canvas to be razed to the ground
Only then to be painted again
A week down the line
Vanity vied labour
Work won by a full measure
Neither pressure nor time
Just the impossible incongruity
Of chipped nail polish
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