Check Me Out, Hipster Grrrl!

I see you not seeing me
eyes sliding over me
like Yuppie is infectious and catching --

Look at you in those
pink Jimmy Choos with the flared white pants swinging
against the poetry of supermodel legs --

Do your friends know you work out? --

A little Pilates when no one's looking
when you're not busy bemoaning the burden
of overweight teens
with body images like funhouse mirrors? --

Bally's in the 'burbs
when only the thirty-something
lawyer in his coordinated warm-ups
wrestling with his age
is furtively looking? --

I see you not seeing me
brown eyes implacable
as they catch and release mine
like needles in the spaces between
songs hissing and popping
with cryptic defiance --

And O that jacket
uber-fucken-cool
thigh-length pleather
strategically distressed
suggesting design
like raked sand
suggests footprints
brown to clash gently
with the pink heels
in which you sashay
like born feet pedicured --

Post-punk harmony --

And me --

My Hilfiger tie and
Hugo Boss suit
anechoic panels --

But that's how I'll sneak up on you
Hipster Grrrl and why --

Because nothing says eternal youth
like the studied disarray
of artfully scarlet pigtails
between my legs
(whether bobbing to The Ramones
or Bacharach) --

Our three-piece band --

You -- Me -- And the Big Lie.

[3/28/05 - 3/31/05]