Natty, Nasty, Sloppily Primped

Natty, nasty, sloppily primped
Strutting slantways through
The crowd; tugging cuffs and
Flicking hair, collarpoints
Turned up underneath
His jaw, white tips
Kissing his pulse

There is not my name here
I am automated, attuned to
Time, lying fine and freshly
Calibrated; my chest is the flat,
Hard wall you lean on; my grin is
A dare; my chin is an arrow, pointing
Down, down

If you knew me, other new me, you
Might ask what she sees - what
I see - in me; but I can
Reassign each lock and look at whim
I can play and be benign as me
But that's too simple; see,
There's no work in being
I more enjoy pretending
I wear the merry
Scoundrel, when
I'm him