if you've ever sipped guinness
through a cigarette filter
or unwittingly taylored your style
after the war footing
of your nation's leaders
or wore fatigues in a civilian's way
or fit a hummer
through the narrower streets
downtown, seeking parking
on a friday night,
getting lodged in the metal wake,
then that's you.
but if you can dance like i do
with no grid or arthur
something numbered footprints,
if you can walk right out
the bike gate of the mccarther bart
like parting leaves to make a path
and don't look back
or feel bad
or speed up when they call after you,
then we
share a foam fist
in the nose bleeds
at the freaking circus.
if you've ever sipped guinness
through a cigarette filter
or wore fatigues
in a civilian's way
if you've got a chain around
your license plate
or cosmetic gold teeth,
i don't know you.
if you wear first hand clothes
and get your hair cut
by somebody you don't know,
i'm below you.
