You wear those khakis well
like my new basement carpet,
custom shaped to your
dimensions.
They're tawny next to
sun-sheltered skin,
chunky red hair,
a bawdy toned skeleton, matching
your tucked-in blueberry--
no, blackberry--polo.
I think you're a puffed-up parrot
to be bathing your feathers in that
stately striped lawn chair.
But what do I know of you
and your silly khakis anyway?
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