Lion on the Catwalk

He can fill out a pair of Versace briefs
like nobody’s business—provided you’ve cut
a hole for his tail, which the designers
were more than happy to do. In another life
he was a supermodel. One shirt hanging
off his shoulders on the cover of Esquire
and—bam!—Macy’s was out of stock.
Casting call boys slunk from buildings
when he strutted in. The job, booked.
Never mind the light test, the competition.
Never mind the dieting and the gym time.
Never mind the after parties and affairs.
Never mind the cocaine. Never mind
the spiral. The breach of contracts.
The proverbial rock bottom. The years
spent letting strange heads penetrate
his mouth. For peanuts. Never mind
the escape. The catwalk might now
be the hallway between the kitchen
and bedroom, but Lion’s still got it
and I’ve got a front row seat. Flash.

Doug Paul Case is an MFA candidate at Indiana University, where he's the first-ever web editor of Indiana Review. His work is published or forthcoming in Columbia Poetry ReviewPankHarpur Palate, and others. He's probably wearing a cardigan.


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