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Study of a Model in Calvin Klein Jeans He is not a commodity. A mere body on a catwalk Or another pretty face. He looks like a boy I thought I was in love with once. His hair is an Idaho wheat field Beneath a peach-pit sun glistening toward a Pretentious light. He is born blond. Beneath it all, Past the cosmetic surgery Are flabs of fat. Moles and pimples. Bits of zits. He's a man with cracked lips, A rubble of dirt beneath his fingernails. Jeans are baby boy blue. Arm hangs down, tapping the inseam. Jeans are designer from the mind Of Calvin Klein.
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