The outfitter’s scarecrow

Napowrimo April 10th, 2022

Today’s prompt, to write a poem on love.

His old clothes don’t fit him anymore
The reliable suit no longer suits.
He could ornament himself in haute couture,
In D&G, or JPG and maybe even Armani,
In the A to Z of the finest frippery.

But he will be naked to his inverse gaze.
False as a fake and fooled emperor,
Revealed for all to see by his tout ensemble,
No catwalk king could he resemble.
On threadbare sleeves his heart dangles,
Stitch by stitch his hopes unwoven,
Unravelled blowing in the cold winds tailored by Tried & Failed.

Hang the overcoat.

To hell with this season’s look.

Send it all to the charity shop.

He is done with this livery.
Worn out by jaded decoupage.

Nothing fits.
Nothing suits.
Nothing looks good on him anymore.
Window shopping stitches up his veins.
He is unpicked, only threadbare shreds remain.

The outfitter’s scarecrow undressed by love.