Regular Poem: The Clothes May or May Not Make the Person

Different clothes
make a person feel
different. Of course,

I can’t wear clothes that
make me feel
different from
the core person I am–

my clothes always
make me feel like some
version of myself.
I have everyone

I know trained
to recognize which
version of me
he’s dealing with
based on my attire–
including hairdo.

Like today
I’m dressed like
a ’50s bad girl:
pedal pushers, saddle shoes,
black turtleneck, leather jacket,
ponytail with pompadour bangs.

I feel like
putting on red lipstick
and getting in a cat fight,
listening to Elvis in my convertible,
sassing folks at the malt shop.

I might light
my cigarette on your
gas stove and blow
sassy, lipstick-printed

smoke rings at you
and call you a square,
hot-wire a Chevelle

and get sent to a
women’s prison run by
some Ida Lupino knockoff–

start an uprising
and call her a
square, and some
Vincent Price knockoff

evil doctor might
shock treatment me.
But I’m resilient.

I’ll have him seduced
and be back in my
saddle shoes
in a jiff.

And oh don’t worry–
I’ve got mights and coulds and maybes
for every habillement.
Except the boring ones.
Except wait–
I don’t have any boring ones.

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