Eye of the Beholder

I counted eight hooks and rings
thin gold ones that aren’t conspicuous
unless of course they’re hooked into the nose
or eyebrows or god knows where else
on this boy with hair bleached whiter than mine
cut short and flat on top
I wonder why the hell
would a boy who’s obviously self-conscious do it
tugging at his shirt tail to be sure it comes down far enough
to keep his I imagine ordinary belly button from showing
as if anybody in the coffee shop would try to peek anyway
but there he was selling coffee and cakes
asking can I help you and do you want leaded or unleaded
just like the pedants at the University faculty lounge
not really understanding what he was doing
mixing metaphors and similes with the lattes
and who cares anyway if the coffee is Columbian
au lait or expresso
except the heavy metal babes
hanging back by the magazine table
can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen
thinking with not much fear of contradiction
by experience or the god damned truant officer
that’s what she called him
or maybe her
that being in school interrupts education
what I want to know is who talked him into the rings anyway
right through that cartilage that divides the nose
hanging there where little cold day drops
drip one after the other
what happens now?