I’m in Miami, sign here. I return to collect my former self
And every day I leave with a new one.
I have bought one a day for the past forty-eight days.

My, do I wear many hats!
Floppy for photo ops,
Baseball for redundancy,

Plinth for protection,
Rattan plinth for recipes,
Gingham for controversy.

And every morning Bob’s Barricades rebuild,
It isn’t hard when there’s nothing behind it.
My photo op. I need to need this.

Miami is shaped like a design
Of anything I need.
If I stuff the pain down with more pain

There will be more numbers
One two three four five six.
When I lost access to my password,

I regained it only through months
Of physical therapy muscle memory.
I write it the wrong way

So when I, too, lose access to my left side
And they try to put it together
No one will know this piece of me.

My followers will raise so much in honor of my hats,
That short-lived but most lucrative period of my life,
I never know what’s going to bring me fame, but I’m lucky if I get it

Even if only for forty-eight hours of frost.