My former wardrobe: a clamor
of dresses wiggling
manic from their hangers.
They embarrassed me in public with their indecent squeaks,
Too much color is bad for the temperament.
I watched while a packet of black dye swished my clothes grey.
I kept the washer lid open:
a musty octopus thrashed inky in the washer.
Since then the clothes behave–
flashy colors serious…studying?
My closet has the elegance of fashion before color film.
The noise quieted to only a rustling in the dark–like snoring,
Poem pulled from RE:AL Volume 30.2 Fall/Winter 2005.