i know better than to wear white

i'm going to get a terry cloth bath
robe for myself, you know the kind
they have at the beverly hills hotel
the ones every one steals because it's part
of the bill?

so we're in goodwill and you find one.
not as thick as i'm thinking but it's the right
material after all and one fifth mall price.

i mean, it's good enough, right?
and it's white, just like in the hills.


why do i feel like i'm settling?
ashes roll down the front
and begin the greying process.
this is just for stepping out
of the shower, pristine, healthy.
not for the sloppy poet's smoke
and coffee stain, this is for someone
who has grapes peeled for them
teeth manicured daily, blinding as snow
offsetting a lying around the pool for days tan.

my hair is stringy today.
i stink too. a shower is in order
but i write, emulating bukowski
on a female scale. i don't drink
but it's all weedy round here.
i don't gamble
at anything but love

my track record's not too bright.
not white and black like a perfect
poem in the middle of a linen sheet.
or her skin, wrapped up, pristine.