by Raud Kennedy
I’m a generic man
Cut from DNA shared with billions.
I struggle to keep up,
Layering on image with my choice of clothes,
My haircut, my swagger, my car,
And when really desperate,
One pump too many of Drakkar Noir.
I work out to maintain a fading body
And compete with men half my age.
I eat right to remain slim and fight
My belly from becoming bigger than my chest.
And when frustrated at being years older than I want,
I wear tight-fitting clothes that squeeze it all in.
Years ago, when I visited Japan,
They said the way I smoked my Camel
America was still hip back then,
And I was unique without trying.
I had a head start.
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