Open letter to the founders of Kinfolk

Silent sober disco is the stock photo’s
notion of fun, washed-out matte backdrop
and brushed metal because there’s no trouble
cool blues can’t overcome. Hair worn straight
and parted to the middle like middle school
but better, better products with kelp & sea grass.
Ocean water our palliative and we feel rich
and vacuous to desire it, tap our chips to say,
Yes, I will pay for what the earth gives in abundance,
or if not, then not in entire dearth. It gets me down:
silk only ever coral or dove gray or taupe, languid
acreages of chambray, girl & boy faces scrubbed
angelic of all but the goldenest side-slanting light.
Used to be a day when top buttons were left open,
flesh deltas trawling a viewer’s imagination.
Me, I’ve got other plans: shack in the burbs, Toyota,
skinny jeans past all point of return. Dirt.
Dirt beneath the nails, on the soles, gathered
in the deepening creases of my eyes. No, I will
not glamor your vision of age, posed on acacia stool
before Leibowitz backdrop, gauzy Eileen Fisher swoop.
It’s recliners & Smart Ones for me. You’d be shocked
at the lure, the lull of comfort.

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