This Goodwill smells like dust
and cement. Horrible music is
playing. The metal hangers,
digging into my arm, leave black,
oily marks on my wrists.
Inside the dressing room—floor covered
with rejected clothes—I try on my findings.
A navy United Airlines stewardess dress
squeezes my ribs too tight
and spreads across my angry hips
in pull-lines, like sand-ridges across a vast desert.
But the short, black, velvet dress hugs me right,
caresses my waist and grazes my hips,
like a lover, leading a ballroom dance.