Imposter 2

Dark denim slides along green pleather

near the back of the bus, my daydream

interrupted by,

“How many pairs

of Jordache do you own?”

Carol,

the chalkboard poet

who so cleverly coupled

buck teeth and blow jobs,

sits behind me every day

the half-hour ride

to and from school.

My tongue slides

across metal braces,

“These are my only pair.”

The way she whispers to her seatmate

reminds me,

I’m on my third wear this week.

Can’t help but love

their leg-numbing denim goodness,

Dang. Should’ve lied.