British Library Metamorphosis
The other day he looked just fine, his beard
Scraped off, his hairy forearms hinted at
By whiskered wrists, his whole look dress-shirt geared
To middle-class propriety. He sat
There under that fluorescent, genteel lamp
And took tight notes without a yawn or blip.
A perfect nose, a slightly precious vamp-
Like ’tache along his precious, slight, pink lip;
It presumed that you’d find him fit, at least,
In sexy sweepstakes. But today he wears
A cowboy shirt, unbuttoned so the beast
In him peeks out where scholar’s chest fur flairs.
So now he’s less bourgeois, less mildly slick,
Gay stud in a 70s porno flick.