Tonight's Poet Corner: My Alias
My Alias by Belinda Roddie I get out of my apartment at 11 PM, my hair looking like flat asphalt, slicked back with so much gel. My car keys feel slippery in my gloves, but my wife's Corvette glides like a dream girl settling into my lap. My cologne makes me smell like a superstar. I am leather and steel toes and Casanova belt buckles. I ooze brass buttons and rusty zippers and sport a watch - a wind-up one - for aesthetic only. I'm simultaneously poser material and too legit to quit - hipster and trying way too hard. But that's the way I like it. It's a lot different than the necktie I knot up into a Windsor lover for the school I work at. Different than the orange stamped baseball cap I pull on when out with my buddies, watching another game where doped up fatheads hit balls bigger than their own with sticks harder and stiffer than their own wood. No, this? It's a good enough disguise. But really, this subterfuge won't hold for long i