Getting Lucky in January by Nicole Steinberg

Taller than traditional Cubans, the look is so
come-hither, touchably soft. Half punky,
half preppy shoulders, very 1893 meets 1983.
It’s showgirl meets rugby, cheeky yet goth,
cruising around the harbor on Mom and Dad’s
sailboat with gorgeous I’ve-been-romping-
in-the-surf-all-summer, dramatic, cottony fluff.
I’ve become an expert at the ratty-gym-bag rut.
A marriage of aesthetics and practicality: so unusual,
just-sexy-enough. All these glamour girls making like
Clark Kent run the risk of looking like sensual-warrior
eight-year-olds. In the mornings, I repent and rebuild,
go for a vest on the furrier side. A youthifying
promise: new-wave apple blossom in the tube.