A poem.

the olive-coloured pant tells all.
even Justin Bieber can’t refute a rebuke
to this single truth
although you might catch him being proud –
especially the times when Hailey is around.
Those Baldwins are known to run afoul.
every nerve, every tendon –
enough visual information
to make a guy think he’s got you pegged.
a lighter-hued pant makes us less well-behaved
in public
while we stare at everything below the waist
that we can save for later in your wake
of our own partner’s haste.
and oh, what devious thoughts come to mind!
although i’m sure you ladies can abide –
what a prison sentence it would be
for you to be trapped behind our line!
but what “do” you think of those weekday afternoons
when you aren’t confined?
when you try to stare at your own behind
in the mirrors of the stores that sell such kind of propaganda defined;
to see how nice it would look to anyone
willing to put in the time
to get to see the skin in the proof of your blessed inclines?
i’m blind!
what a babe!
she’s wearing the olive pants
and may has well have signed her name –
tattooed –
on such a luscious pair of legs,
plucked as if t’were a drupe, ripened innate!
and now i am afraid.
//jf 3.26.2022
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