bar you entered you would turn no heads
but mine -- you are no ikon for the many
to carry off and kneel to in their beds.
Nor do I think: "But dress him properly,
find him a better barber -- yes, and please,
shave off that awful mustache!" No. To me
you're fine in tennis shoes and dungarees.
Oh, if I wanted Class (Class only in
the vulgar sense), I know the marketplace
where it's on sale: Take home a mannequin,
a perfect body and an empty face.
Let other people queue up for what sells
most dearly. I want you. And no one else.
April 19, 1978
