There was a point at which I thought
I understood what status was and I wrote this poem about it.
Now I'm not so sure whether I covered it completely or not.
But this is definitely an aspect I think of attaining status.
It's called "Feeling Status."
Whether we can see it doesn't matter,
our fingers find it around corners of objects, glass jars,
candle wax, or the cool side of an old plow facing the wall.
Outside is just one of its parts.
Texture within, a thrill of the sort,
got by a woman who can smile slip into her own body.
She won't tell us how it is, so we feel around
for it, the soft slickness.
Once found, we put it on like a wet felt hat
to show our friends than the world,
look how much I can waste.