Catwoman vs. The Plig Dress

The hanger lied.
The leather pants
were not my size,
and my cheeks
like white mushroom tops
above the black
and failing,
to make me

I’m a thick calved
black pillar
to hold up
the white marshmellow
so thick
the band that won’t
pushes them up
to my waist.
Or, at least,
almost does.

So instead,
I take the Gunne Sax
my husband calls
‘the plig dress’
but reminds me
of a time
when black leather pants
didn’t exist,
and all girls wore skirts
and panteloons
to hide the ham hock
and mushroom tops
and instead flattered
the waist
said leggy blobs

should not touch.
So what if I look
like a pioneer?
At least it doesn’t
make promises
it can’t keep.
And at least
it’s easier
to be skinny.

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