standing in front of my plush wall to wall wardrobe
I search for perfect apparel. choosing one, rejecting
yet again. colour is not suitable, pattern is too bad
texture is obsolete. cotton scrapes, scratches smooth
skin, synthetics give me rashes, silk simply slips over.
ochre is passé, mauve is dumb, green is down market
lavender is ugh, white contrasts with my dusky tone.
a colossal pile on bed, waiting, begging to be picked.
no second glance, no second chance, despondently
I find nothing appropriate to go well with my mood.
cursing myself to stupidity, I struggle to be so cool-
words in my head, nothing to wear. Whomsoever
said women have too many clothes- was a big fool.
Do not forget to ride the Monday Poetry Train