Pretender

The swing seat compresses
injury, and I’m baking
in crushed black velvet.

Of all days to be a puddle
of exaggerated sweat,
I chose this one: a pretender
of the highest degree.

I flash timed smiles, give
appropriate nods, but deep
inside I’ve already flown away.

But I guess you knew that.
You, in cool confidence,
splashing yourself with water
at the pool of admiration.
How well you do in these
situations where I would
rather not be.