Slow Exposure Poem by GRANT FRASER

Standing gazing
at my legs
in mirror
of changing
room,

toned, but white
as a glass of milk,
with hairless shins
worn out by trousers,

it's going to be
too hot to wear
clothes,

I've got a metrosexual
look about me,

I'm a consumer now,

and all the foreign
girls want to sell
me face cream,

I dart by, everytime,

but it never really works
though,

not the cream, I mean,

I get mine on prescription,
made with oatmeal,

a True Scot, I hope,

God I feel like a girl
on a mission to look good,

I guess I'm at odds
with what being normal is,

I zip like a zipper
past it all,

unable to dispose
of my pretend costume...

I'm coming back, you'll
see,
with Marx, where my stupid
new trainer socks, used to be...

Money - it's all a dream..