a man of the cloth

Oh, to live the life of a fashion faux pas Cursed by the anathema of dress codes Choosing blindly the closest hanger The shirt on top of the pile That lonely pair of shoes Hidden amid Those “too comfortable” to toss Ratty sneakers and feral boots Jeans that had holes Before it became fashionable T-shirts that mumble comments In a far corner a shirt with a collar A lonely pair of pants with a crease A tie that has been in and out several times A quiet sports fan he wears no logos Although he roots loudly Alone in a drawer somewhere Are the many attempts at “conversion” Sweaters, pullovers, and a few Extremely “elegant” Christmas monstrosities He wears jackets older than his children Believing that fraying is the fashion statement Of the flannel nation Everyone knows that if he takes the children out They are coming back dirty With a new bruise or band-aid to brag about His granddaughter once asked: “Papa, why’d you wear that!” He replied: “cuz it was on top”