I see a Swattie who walks around campus
with his leather boots click-clacking on the asphalt
every shiny hair slicked to stand in the right place
always with a cigarette between his lips
eyebrows pulled together in a formulated glower.
He frames his identity as a rebel:
"the one who resists any authority,
control, or tradition."
Yet I can tell it is all a marketing scheme.
He plays the role for social gains
as the adjudicating breaths of campus
are hot enough to shape his features.
He wants to be sleek as a black panther
but his sense of self is as ethereal as the puff of smoke
that snakes out of his mouth, curling around his head
in the shape of a constantly-changing question mark.