Two poems
Ivy League I wish I could weara polo shirt withoutlooking stupid, or ridein a regatta withoutmy fringe flying up, revealingmy premature wrinklesbecause I keep my eyebrows upeven at rest. The bad tasteof rich boys makes mesweat. Sponsors’ namesmake me sweat—foundationswhich seem to me darkendless aislesof mood lighting.I have wanderedthe days searchingfor myself in car windows.I…