British Library Metamorphosis

The other day he looked just fine, his beard

Scraped off, his hairy forearms hinted at

By whiskered wrists, his whole look dress-shirt geared

To middle-class propriety.  He sat

There under that fluorescent, genteel lamp

And took tight notes without a yawn or blip.

A perfect nose, a slightly precious vamp-

Like ’tache along his precious, slight, pink lip;

It presumed that you’d find him fit, at least,

In sexy sweepstakes.  But today he wears

A cowboy shirt, unbuttoned so the beast

In him peeks out where scholar’s chest fur flairs.

  So now he’s less bourgeois, less mildly slick,

    Gay stud in a 70s porno flick.