Today I wanted to wear all my clothes,
not on top of each other,
but I wanted to take them all with me,
bring them to my meetings, lay them out as proposals:

the jeans&polo shirt mean “I’m interested
but not committed;” the khakis&collared shirt mean,
“I like this idea&have the money to prove it,
just not with me;” the sweatpants&T-shirt mean

“Where are the donuts&cookies?” Did a wolf chase
the gingerbread man? I can’t remember, &are we assuming
he’s a cookie? At any rate, he could adopt these principles
at his meetings, where everyone’s naked&ginger,

tallying death tolls, considering why wolves like gingerbread,
bargaining with the black buttons
running up their torsos like a cancer
that happens to be symmetrical.

Who’s making you gingerbread people
then letting you free, like you enjoy running
with crumbling feet? You see, I want to write these two problems,
&all day I’ve been putting things together

that probably don’t match, but what would we discuss
at our meeting gingerbread man:
me wearing eight articles of clothing,
you with your buttons&dirty feet? Take the khakis&polo;

you shouldn’t have trouble with the wolf now; your outfit says
“I have enough money to find you interesting,
but no thanks.” The frosting lips on your face crack
stretching for a smile,

although you’re nervous about this meeting,
about the milk&napkins in the middle of the table,
&the fact that I said business casual
but still decided on sweatpants.