For Poetry Thursday, I’m re-posting an old poem.

Wearing a Teen Model’s Dress

That white dress on the cover of Seventeen.
It smelled of cool girl
when peasant clothes were chic.
Black ribbon decorated with leaves and red flowers
yoked the chest and
braceleted the wrists with Cossack flair.

I could conquer the world –
a teenage boy’s heart –
in a dress from Seventeen.
Or so I thought.

I nagged Mom to buy it.
She finally shlepped me to Macy’s.
The dress called to me
from its metal pipe rack.
I ran my hand over the ribbon,
savoring the silky embroidery threads
and the virgin white cotton fabric.

No, not that one, said Mom.
White isn’t practical.
We’ll take the red.
It’s the same as the dress on the magazine,
Only the color diverges.

Maybe that’s why,
when I rose from my seat
at the dance to greet the boy,
he snickered and said
“No, not you.”