Victor’s Secret
Poem inspired by “Victoria’s Secret,” by Billy Collins
He is glued to the middle of the page
with his hands
so firmly placed on
his tiny little hips.
His eyes are somewhere else -
maybe upon the middle-man’s face.
He stands there with his pink boa
wrapped around his neck
as if to protect him from the world
of which never understands him.
The black magic crayon that has circled his eyes
has masked him from his real identity.
He is the Beauty Queen, the one that
Never seems to be feminine
e n o u g h.
But still, this is his dream. All he ever dreamed of
Was to be pretty like the girls down the street
who got all the attention.
While he sat there with his dolls
and the other boys played with trucks.
His mother told him it was okay to be different.
There he poses, lying down across
the centerfold.
Waiting for all eyes to see
his add for those Calvin Klein hip huggers,
which are not to pleasing
up against his man parts
His wonder bra digs into his bony shoulders
but he keeps telling himself
that beauty is pain.
No pain no gain they told him.
No pain no gain.
His layout sends the ones who had stared
a message.
Look at me now, stare all you want
at me now.
This picture will last longer than your hate stares.
I can fit into the baby doll T’s, the platform shoes, and
your mama’s nightgown
I can wear anything I want and these people
want to see me,
they need me to be pretty
and I can be.
The last layout photo is the very last page
of the newly printed Vogue. He
sure strikes his pose.
It is the best pose of them all.
How could they laugh at him now?
If they could only see him now,
if they could only know that this is the same
tattered little boy.
One hand is up to the camera
waving with
hopeful giddiness.
The other is in his back pocket
the pose like George Michel used to do.
His hair all spiky purple scary,
the glitter sprinkling down to his high heeled toes.
The red madness lipstick yelling free,
his baby smooth fingers covered in Kay Jewelers
rings.
The weight of all the necklaces pulls his body closer,
get a closer look
come on, get closer.
The page flips over, closing the magazine,
But the scent of all those cologne samples still
fills the air.
