My guess is that someone recognized
how I walked in wearing a red
plastic-lettered school t-shirt and left
from the single stalled family bathroom
in a gray button up and navy tie.

The “Oh my gosh, Shelby” shouted by a teenage girl
illuminated by juices and teas
in the farthest refrigerated aisle from the bathroom
was undoubtedly a sign of my change
and not a response to the latest drama
Shelby perhaps was telling a friend
on her skipped day of school, should you so think.

Neither did the male trainer scrutinizing
the calorie count on a pack of Combos
need to hide so hard his surprise
of my morph into interview clothes
by picking up both the pizza flavored
and regular cheese filled cylinders
before walking to the register,
I assume, for a friend at another gym
that I wouldn’t know, even if I asked.

My guess is that someone soon
will come up to me as I fill myself
a cup of the coffee scheduled to be switched
in the next 10 minutes and ask
out of wonder why I look so different now
or why I never changed my pants through all that I’ve done.