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Study of a Model in Calvin Klein Jeans

He is not a commodity.
A mere body on a catwalk
Or another pretty face.

He looks like a boy I thought I was in love with once.
His hair is an Idaho wheat field
Beneath a peach-pit sun glistening toward a

Pretentious light.
He is born blond.
Beneath it all,

Past the cosmetic surgery
Are flabs of fat. Moles and pimples.
Bits of zits.

He's a man with cracked lips,
A rubble of dirt beneath his fingernails.
Jeans are baby boy blue.

Arm hangs down, tapping the inseam.
Jeans are designer from the mind
Of Calvin Klein.

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