Happy first day of summer!
Today I’m going to snap my elastic and tackle the serious topic of, ahem, underwear.
Out of doo respect, I’ll try to be brief.
Quite frankly, I’ve got my knickers in a twist.
And I just want to do the right thing.
But things have changed. We’ve gone from bloomers to dental floss.
From modest corsets
to blatant double barrels.
How are we supposed to know what to wear where? Remember when it was social suicide to have your slip or bra strap show?
Now underwear is a big fashion statement, and skivvies everywhere are having an identity crisis:
Camis are out of the closet.
Bras are now allowed to play sports.
Boxers and briefs have formed a merger.
It’s always political, isn’t it?
With my glorious undies pushing certain parts up and holding other parts in, I’m beginning to miss the fine art of jiggling. RIP, pantyhose.
Yes, I fear for the very foundation of our society.
Seems I’m not the only one:
Underwear controls everything in the end
Take foundation garments for instance
They are really fascist forms
of underground government
making people believe
something but the truth
telling you what you can or can’t do
Did you ever try to get around a girdle
Perhaps Non-Violent action
is the only answer
Did Gandhi wear a girdle?
(Read the rest of “Underwear,” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, here.)
Friends, now is the time to seriously assess our spandex.
On second thought, never mind . . . .
Better dash on over to Semicolon to see who’s jockeying for the prime time poetry peep.
Unless you’d rather go commando.
P.S. I think you’re top drawer!