A Note To My Sartorial Self

This poem is penned to my sartorial self, about wardrobe clothes on the rail or the shelf, replica football shirts, too tight, too small, threadbare cord trousers, I don’t wear at all, now for recycling with all the rest, while saving my smart shoes and suit just for best, too many old clothes that I’ll never wear, though some could be fixed with a minor repair, soon I’ll be whistling a different tune, when I sort my wardrobe out, some day quite soon, into black bin bag with labels on top, I’ll be best friends with the charity shop.