"Corduroy" by Nick Wort
The stripes on your shirt
clash with your eyes. It looks stupid
and I need you to know that —
please leave me alone.
Your fingers, caked in grease
trail down my pant legs
I am concerned. About the finger situation
—Yes, but also the way
your shirt buttons all the way up to the base
of your chin. It looks like you can’t breathe
Would you like it better that way?
Am I allowed to ask you that?