by Francine DuBois
For the control group
New York City, 1982
"I always did look good in black."
Muffy crossed her fishnetted legs
And sipped her Tab. "Of course, being punk
Is more than wearing anarchist patches
And dating boys with mohawks. It's more than
Getting your ears pierced multiple times and
Listening to the Sex Guns. Punk is an attitude."
"You mean the Sex Pistols."
Josh sat across from her and pricked his fingers lightly
On the spikes of his hair. He relished the slight sting.
He wondered what a Hampton girl from Wellesley
Would know about punk attitude. Had she ever been poor?
Had she ever felt like she'd been cheated?
Had she ever jammed a needle full of heroin up
Those delicate blue-blood veins?
Muffy looked like Blair from The Facts of Life
In Sid Vicious' clothing, only with slightly more make-up.
As Josh sat there, he felt himself being studied,
Felt himself becoming the subject of a Master's thesis
On social deviance, felt himself becoming a marginalized group
She'd feel obligated to fix when she became Miss America.
Josh backed away from the table. "Well, I guess
Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
I'll see you at CBGB's Friday night," he stated,
Stuttering slightly. "Would you like me better if I looked
More like Blondie?" she asked, pulling closer to the table,
Reaching with her hand to play with a safety pin on his jacket.
"Blondie is a band, not a person." He strutted out,
Boots clacking on the tile floor, head slightly bent in an
Unconscious atempt to protect his mohawk.
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