Faded

That colour was ‘the rage’ once,
suited me,
used to fit.

Wouldn’t be seen dead in it now.
Keep a thing for twenty years
and it’ll come back

three sizes just in case,
and you’ll always have
nothing to wear.

Fashion undermines
my daily struggle of decision:
mutton or lamb?

Be it fourteen, sixteen, twelve,
I was never linear
of habit.

Might as well be out of the world
as out of the fashion. I was never ‘in’,
and fatter doesn’t flatter.

What does it matter in the end?
One size fits all. Empty wardrobe
pall.