American Life in Poetry: Rental Tux
Here's an experience that I'd guess most of the men who read this column have had, getting into a rental tuxedo. Bill Trowbridge, a poet from Missouri, does a fine job of picturing that particular initiation rite.
It chafed like some new skin we'd grown,
or feathers, the cummerbund and starched collar
pinching us to show how real this transformation
into princes was, how powerful we'd grown
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