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Whoever says:
"clothes make the
man"
let him
wear sweat-ridden skullcap
(your cloth gone to skin)
let him put on long coat
shredded at the wrists,
torn up the side
(a convenient slit for your hand)
Backed against a wall,
backside wiping slogans clean,
you draw deeply on that cigarette
through damp & filthy palms,
taking time to think
(not of your prospects,
certainly not of labels
in long coat and hat,
but) of the name they call
wanting ten liters of oil
or a slab of meat
carried here from there
Taking time to forget all that
Whoever says
"clothes make the man",
let him put on your name,
your coat & hat
Let him stand against the wall
Waiting |
