Do you want me to put it on now, stretch it thin enough (be thin enough) for you to punctuate, penetrate? 

I have tried on so many different kinds:

in the dark, in the rain, on a Friday wearing sunburn and unemployment,

on the bus, in the shade, when I'm fired for talking outside the script,

when you ask, when you beg, with a squirrel hiding more than its lunch behind me,

before dawn, at the bank, while waiting to cross the street with an overpriced cup of coffee,

when you bank on a body, confused with mine, all patchworked and removed

you expect, you want, it is your privilege to see it stretch for you.

But I will not,

I could not,

I do not like,

certainly not for you,

in a,

on a,

when I'm—

only, will I

(in fact)

for me.