clothes make the man

if clothes make the man
I am a fourteen year old boy
leaving the house
in khaki shorts
and a white or blue t-shirt nearly
every morning.
sneakers too, but expensive sneakers,
pumas, not those ankle
breaking chuck taylor
high tops that give you no
support.
I might have a marble
in my pocket, a rabbit's
foot attached to my keys.
life saver candies stuck together
from when the pants were washed,
gum, real gum. not the thin
fruity kind, but
the thick pink kind you
can blow a bubble
the size of a child's head
if need be and pop it
with a loud bang,
making grown ups
shake their heads.
i'll be wearing white socks.
no belt.
no briefcase.
maybe a baseball cap,
dirty with sweat rings
and a rip where my dog
chewed off the top button.