as the clothes in the closet, cramped
and draped in dust, wrinkled,
a colored speck in a container
of sprinkles. Waiting for a
woman to slide the door,
to emit a light into this chasm
of black -
just to pull out a shirt
to slap on her back. I don't
like lying flat, burned by the bottom
of triangular steaming steel. Steam
billowing above me as a locomotive. No, I'd
like to have my red lacy self displayed
in the Macy's window
for all to ogle and aah. Pay the price
to take me out all night at the Ritz's
bar, compliments hitting me like martinis
in the glow of a new year's eve,
from a pair of blue eyes
called Steve. If I'm stained and
a mess after the party -
I've been ad dressed
and lived hearty!