Out of the Closet

Night wrinkles on dim hangers; bell-bottom pants two-toned platform shoes a wide `kipper' tie. In a pocket a crumpled Kodachrome - hot pants and velvet neck-choker. ‘Who is she?’ This closet is a time machine I exited decades ago. Dreaming hands part a frilled dress shirt from its sky-blue tuxedo. A stripy tank-top. dances badly to ‘Brown Sugar’ damn you Mike Jagger you created a monster. There’s a rum and coke stain floating like a ghost through fading threads. Time, now exhausted, falls back onto a pillow the wardrobe trembles like a Tardis then disappears into its blue police box where every garb ever worn still fits. Who are you? I am a hairy hippy, I glitter, and Jesus Christ is still a Super Star. She’s a sexy girl who won’t let me sleep. Wire hangers rattle in the dark a metallic laughter. Nerves jiggle restless legs.