THE CLOTHES WE WEAR
Constrained
Within the cut
Of a brand new
Small-shouldered coat
The arms flail awkardly
Bare to the air
While wondering how
To hide
Epaulettes
And brass buttons
Tell a story
That is not mine
Starchy
Scratching the skin
This coat is trying
Too hard
There have been
Many such habits
Cast off and re-assumed
In the illusion
That the mould
Is the measure
Of good
But the coat I wear now
Is growing on me
It doesn’t look like much
But this coat has lived
Woven through history
With linen and flax
Skeins from the silk road
And the cotton field
A patch from a ship’s sail
And a touch
Of cosmic dust
This coat accommodates
The curves, the wrinkles
And the cussedness of age
It has capacious pockets
For treasured memories
And spacious room
For change
In its forgiving form
As life unfolds
Mud at the wall 