You Make Me Wear Clothes

You Make Me Wear Clothes


Wandering adventure, life
peeks out of holes, around the corner,
sneaking up behind me, saying, "Boo!"
Awaiting me, so patiently,
with curtain back, you catch me running
naked in the fields, the sparrows
startled by my shouts of glee.
"Whoopee!" I say...
The sunny clouds of airy matter fill my
cotton-pickin' head. No jeans, no overalls,
no buckles, clasps, or binders poke my sides
or hold me down. "Whoopee!"
I run
through stalks of corn,
a corny-smelling green theater,
movie reel of Orville Wright
and Wilbur flying overhead.
I wave my hand, my skin obscured
by husks that cover eyes and ears --
they hear no sound of me -- "Whoopee!"
I shout,
but there you are, a tiny speck
on my horizon, wearing red.
You're on the porch, you're
coming down.
I hear you calling,
"Karen! Karen! Come on in!"

I stop the sprint and
hang my head. I know it's time
to settle down and be polite
with parlor tricks that move the masses,
idly talking words of action
as we shake their hands and smile --
I guess it's not so bad.
The worst would have to be
the clothes you make me wear
so I can hold my secrets in.

I must wear clothes...