My Denim-Dressed Heart

a fashion poem

Dictators of trend

Release the latest press:

Denim on denim on

Obsessed blue jean mess.


Good souls will coat their bodies in

Simple pantsed bruise

But I have a feeling

I cut out an organ too

Four-chamber pockets

Covered in dye

Indigo red, beating

A real dungaree guy

I walk down the street

With my new denim heart

Talk to pleebs and late-adopters

Know I’m really smart

But soon comes that thing

A one dangerous thought

My whole body needs denim

…Or my effort’s been naught!

So I cross-stitch my knees

Elbows get acid-washed

Weft for my nipples

Beryl skin’s so posh

Eyes sewed tight

Kidneys loomed

Spleen’s pressed flat

“I’m building my tomb!”

But there’s no time for critics

Or my brain (“dead!”)

Only one thing left to smutch

I twice-wrap my head.


Now if I’ve learned anything

Tied up in this hospital room

It’s if double denim is forever

We’re denim-ly doomed.


This poem originally appeared in Should I Laugh Or Cry, a newsletter for trendsetters.

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