Knee-Highs Poem by Cailey Martin

Today, I will wear knee-high socks.
These will I camouflage in combat
boots, so that the cotton tops
peep out from their trenches,
daring to showcase stripe—laces
half-tied, the antithesis of constraint.

Today, I will cuff my shirtsleeves.
I will slide the ends up inversely, jam
up the folds, J-Crew-style. Buzzfeed
taught me how. Starch will contain
my triceps—suffocation by snake—
buttons rendered meaningless.

My fingers will be bound by vicious
silver bands, but my toes will begin
to wander and roam the vast;
fast and silent, heels skimming
gently sandpapered concrete.

For now, I am knee-deep in tar.
My calves ache with the wear
of one thousand knee-highs,
socks slipping down in rings
to my salty, skinny ankles.