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.
I Started Late and Forgot the Dog. 
I love this. It’s all Attitude, especially the lipstick-printed smoke rings.
Thanks! I was kind of feeling writing a poem for a lot of different outfits, but then I just got really stuck in the women-in-prison plot of this one and kept going too long.