This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order.

Haberdashery

Aug 20 2010

I have a single suit

to my name.

I bought it for a formal occasion

so long ago

it’s almost stylish again.

When my father retired

he owned dozens,

a walk-in closet

of IBM blue, executive black,

pin-striped, glen-checked

flannel, and herring-bone.

And with reckless pleasure

he swept them off their reinforced rod

and on to the Sally Ann.

So now, well worn men with drinking problems

stumble into flop-house cots

in fine Armani attire,

mumble along in chorus

to rousing hymns

like good Christian soldiers.

My father never wears a tie, anymore.

Wonders why, for so long

he did.

I’m afraid when they find me

cold and stiff,

I’ll be shoe-horned into that orphaned suit, itchy and crimped

tugging at the knot at my throat.

If it weren’t for weddings and funerals

I’d burn the damned thing.

Please, dispatch me by fire, too

when my time is up.

And dress me as I began,

unencumbered.

I’ve never been in style.

At least the suit was

once.