I can tell, immediately
by the photos of your friends.
They are all straight
proud smiles
and good bones -
unlined brows
and smooth skin
and not a wrinkle
among them.

Not a single
blemished nose
or fatty - and
they have been smiling
for the camera
since birth;
bellies full
of good cheese
and organic beef - they

are red-blooded Americans,
born to wide horizons and sunshine
all amber waves and good breeding
all tanned legs and cheerleading.
There is nothing blue or bruised
about them.

I would never fit in.

Sure, I could slip
into the midst of them -
slide on my cigarette pants and
canvas slippers,
bind my wrists with thick bangles
and cut my hair in a proper angle
but I will still be
just a pretender.

I’ll still walk
everywhere. The way I move
will give me away.
I’ll still wear
the shifting slump
of a prisoner - even
on the other side of the wall.

You know,
you just can’t fake
that kind of upright.
It comes from a life
with no weight.