months on end
forlorn, forgotten.
shrouded in dry-cleaner plastic,
strangled by neckties of various hues, patterns, textures.
Like a faithful servant awaiting his master's summons,
it keeps constant vigil,
standing ready for all events deemed formal.
Purchased too many years ago to count,
this harbinger of holidays,
this celebrant of soirees,
sees too few occasions of service for the mistress of the house.
"I'm allergic to pants,"
is the master's excuse.
And so the master's finery
moves, once yearly,
from hanger to luggage bag,
from closet to cruise ship.
Until now.
What bliss these glad rags entertained
as bride embraced his sleeve!
What sorrow this mourning coat endured
as son bid his father farewell!
In seven brief days these faithful robes
bore witness to
a lifetime of such highs and lows
a generation of joys and woes.
The feelings that one week evokes
how can a suit attempt to cloak?
