straight against the light i cross

i'm going to read o'hara
until i, too, start spouting manifestos

until my skin goes immaculate
and i start to look like those girls
who went to college for an mrs
then got seduced by words

or by men with glasses with thick plastic frames
and professors who called them dollface and
made them want to take dictation

until my sense of humour
goes all masculine and dry
my gait all new york cool

or until my character gets smothered backstage
during an impromptu reading
her cries drowned out by the applause