This is a work in progress

Shirts and Skins
The oldest is a white wife beater
narrow ribbed, hugging my hips,
tightening at the rib cage,
made for hot summer nights
in the deep south.

Here is the foil, all black, long,
extra long, high neck, long-sleeve,
still ribbed, but wide ribs and not
constricting but loose, catching on
the lift of my breast when I reach.

Next is the thread thin flannel
in red and black and white,
formal collar, buttons, cuffs
folded back, grazing my thigh
and the bottom of my buttocks.

Then a extra large denim blue
t-shirt, the Ellicott City emblem
nearly disappeared. Best worn with boy
shorts, great for napping and washing the
car, for when drying off from the shower,
answering the doorbell.

This on has the Harley emblem, not
yet faded. Long sleeves, rolled back,
an extra long for the tall, burgundy so it
conceals wine stains and blood. It taps the
very top of my thigh, the cups of my cheeks
slip out without discretion.

Night companions, comfort clothes, shackles
better burned. But I keep them, my polygamist
weakness seeking the one for this night and
that one for tomorrow.