There are men at the back of my wardrobe.
Once in a while I take them out,
sort them into years
according to their fashions.
In my late eighties pile
is the only good looking one.
Still walking with one hand in his Farrah’s
holding onto his ego like loose change.
Or my early nineties cast-offs
those baggy Fruit of the Loom T-shirts
where I searched through cotton
trying to find a personality.
And the ones that did not fit
where I tried to squeeze into tight
leather jackets. My smile so bright
dimples chafed both cheeks.
There are even those I never got to try on,
silk ties that slipped
through my fingers leaving a wave
of could-have-been aftershave.
Yes, I’ve learned how to accessorise:
mix louds with neutrals,
go for analogous hues,
and now when I wear something
I only wear me.
Kay Buckley lives in Barnsley. She was overall winner of the 2014 York Mix poetry competition. Her poems have been published in magazines such as Antiphon, Butcher’s Dog, Brittle Star , Proletarian Poetry and three drops from a cauldron as well as included in anthologies by Paper Swans Press, Pankhearst and The Emma Press.
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