Today is Halloween.
I will don my Harris wool coat and
Oxford cloth shirt and
Wander the village at-large
Without shaving.

I will avoid
The daily charade
Of prescribed silk ties,
Black shoes with laces or
Brown shoes with tassels.

I will march aside of
The beatless parade of
Empty suits, of
Spiritless souls, of
Orphans of thought
Within Burberry lining.

I will confront the world––
Proclaim myself in
My own designer dream––

Tweedy and

But after all, who am I


I remember you
One morning, alone in your
Wardroom, as you attempted to
Fashion your being,
Clothe your personality,
Express your sad sentiment.

Your hands sought velvet texture--
Your eyes, muted color--
Your conscience, the precise hem.

I watched you silently as
You patched together
Your mood and the
Greyness of your circumstance.

When you strode out
Upon the stage
Of your daily career
No one noticed and
No one admired

Your tawny Abernathy top.
Your taupe Chadwick skirt.
Or your medallion of glowing silver.

And by the way,
Who are you?