A Young Man at a Party

He stood brooding
over the laws
and his constriction within them,
holding himself between stiff arms,
like a hug,
letting the handle
of light yellow liquor
dangle from the first few fingers
on his left hand.
His right leg leaned to the left,
toward his uncentered hips,
and the left leg was leaned on,
but rigid in the skinny gray jeans
and tall, black canvas shoes,
the right one tapping quickly
in rhythm with his words.

His faded blue denim jacket
folded and wrinkled over his arms
as they slivered in their cradling,
and his soft looking green t-shirt
was too tight on his thin frame
to move very much,
but it hung a little long
and covered his large belt buckle
that I knew was silver metal from before,
and that it was on a vintage white belt.

His black hair looked best dry and messed,
but he had parted it, with mousse,
and was wearing black, winged glasses, too.