Leggings are a Universal Language

Whittling down to the essence – The bare naked stark bones of unfortunately typical male-female interaction.

I like to go to extremes.

I.
Mating Ritual of the Female Human
Wear leggings.
Go outside.
Wait.
Men will come.
Give phone number to the one that would piss off your father the most.
Wait for text.
Get text.
Wait
an hour or two –
so you don’t look desperate –
so you don’t look like you were waiting
for his text.
Say, “Not much, you?”
Freak out.
Scream.
Throw phone.
Wait five minutes.
Curse him.
Call him an asshole for not texting you back immediately.
Hope he crashes his car.
Think, “Oh my god what if he did crash his car?”
Feel bad.
Text him – “Are you ok?”
Wait five minutes.
Call him.
When he answers, hang up.
Text him – “Sorry, butt-dialed you.”
(This will remind him of the leggings)
Make plans.
Shower.
Shave.
Promise yourself you’re not going to have sex with him.
Wear leggings.
Drink colorful cocktail.
Have sex with him.
Never hear from him again.
Cry.
Cry.
Cry.
Curse him.
Cry.
Have a laughing fit.
Cry.
Hope he crashes his car.
Cry.
Cry.
Cry.
Wear leggings.
Go outside.
Wait.

II.
Mating Ritual of the Male Human
Go outside.
Tell every girl wearing leggings she’s beautiful.
Get one phone number.
Forget her face.
Remember the leggings.
Wait a day.
Text her, all cool – “Sup?”
Forget you texted her.
Get a phone call.
Get a text.
Think about leggings.
Make plans with leggings.
Shower.
Shave.
Think, “Is it gay if I order a cosmo too?”
Order a beer.
Have sex with leggings.
Realize leggings is actually a person with feelings.
Realize you are actually a person with feelings.
Stop texting leggings
Et voila! – no more feelings.

III.
Question
Isn’t it funny how we have to ask questions when we don’t care about the answers just so we can pretend to be a certain way to prove to another person who’s pretending to be a certain way that we’re worth seeing naked, because that’s all we ever really thought about in the first place, right?

IV.
I’ve stopped pretending.
When I get asked for my phone number, I give out a link to my blog
to see if he can handle crazy first.
I ask questions I already know the answers to
just to see if that person has gotten sick of pretending
like I’m sick of pretending.

I’m so sick of pretending

but I’m still wearing leggings –
They’re comfortable –
like a second skin
I don’t know how to shed.

EJZ 04.25.2015

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Response to the Installment over the Greenway

image

This was erected over the Rose F. Kennedy Greenway in Boston last spring.
Articles were published in which the authors referred to it as “the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen”.

I had a different reaction.

While I’ve developed a certain appreciation for the work since writing this poem, I am still out of line with the artist’s supposed intention,  which still leaves something to be desired, in my opinion.

My poetic response, below:

When I look at art,
I want to be elevated,
I want to feel reverence,
I want to feel my legs grow,
to raise me up to it,
I want  to throw my head back, exalted by the rumbling of the greatness within me,
I want to fall in love;

I don’t want to be confused.

The neon weaving cries out,
“Look at me! Look at me!”
So I do and I say,
“For what?”

The idea was to connect past with present
as if that doesn’t speak for itself.
You are commemorating a material experience that no longer is –
Let me build a non-functioning sequin-plated polyethylene statue,
an elegy to an aqueduct and
Ahh….art…

The present
The present
The present –
Your homage to a fleeting moment.
You’d like us grounded,
stunned,
looking upward,
thinking,
Ah…yes…now.
This acrobatic mesh floating above me
Yes, this is where our city is, now.

Looking up?
Looking up to what?
I am looking ahead,
constantly creating in this moment you call now.
I weave the threads of time into the future.
I look up by looking in,
by projecting,
by flying,
forward.

I don’t quite grasp your principle –

but somehow,
you get me to pause,
to look up
and say,
“What the fuck?”

EJZ 05.07.2015