Metrosexual?

I am not a straight man with a beauty regime. I am an old guy who wants to look his age. I stopped wearing baseball caps, but it’s getting to the point where I have more hats than women have shoes in their closet. I do not comb my hair more than once a day, use hair straighteners, wear eyeliner or pluck my eyebrows (anymore). I do not wear skinny jeans, but sometimes hand me downs fit a little snug. I have worn the same pair of Doc Martens for three years. I am not upset when my grandma buys me socks and underwear for Christmas (anymore). I admit, when I go out to a venue or perform/recite/read, I strategize my wardrobe (I almost typed, outfit). Remember Bloods and Crips, or the movie, Colors? Sometimes, the colors you wear matter.

For the Mayor’s reception, I wore a hemp fedora, a white T-shirt under a Ventura County Jail orange and blue rolled-up long sleeves button up, Calvin Klein blue jeans, and of course, my Docs. I walked up to the microphone with my hands behind my back. The microphone and sound was terrible. I was not able to hear any of the readers before me. I wished I had borrowed Phil’s megaphone. Phil Taggart was the first person to encourage me to submit my poem to Art Tales. I told him there was no way the poem I wrote would place, but he replied, “You never know.”

I looked around for the Mayor, but he was a no-show. I looked around for VC Star, but did not see them either. I stepped out from behind the podium with my hand behind my back, stopped and faced the Art Tales display board, explained why, and then, performed. I think one woman commented, “We don’t hear this kind of stuff on the Children’s floor too often.”

People, who looked at me with fear in their eyes only two minutes and thirty-seven seconds earlier, smiled and congratulated me. Richard came up to me after the award ceremony, shook my hand and thanked me for showing people how to read poetry. One of the other winners, blonde and blue eyes, smiled at me, shook my hand and told me, “I think your poem was the best.” 

I wish I had asked her why. Maybe it was my hat.