Copihue Poetry

Fitting Room

I run thru lit mags, as if mall shops
display window promises open
inward, local/imported, glossies
racks and racks of careful curation
screech-metal quick, wrist-turn selection
hunkering down, close-wall change-rooming
pretending not to hear discreet knocks
whisper-voices, fit in flux, amidst
head plunge, hair catch, sudden button
zipper-bit, tag-jagged, blood bead trails
low bench discards, hangers akimbo
half-way necks sprout contortionist arms
whole place floor-mined with cut-rate straight pins
I catch myself, the mirror full-length