S is for Suit

You wear yourself like a suit,
stiff, over laundered.
It hangs on you, this new self,
baggy in the chest, too wide
across the shoulders.

You must have admired it
on the hanger,
held it out in front of you,
watching the way
the expensive thread caught the light.

This is who I am now,
you thought.
Not that old version
who danced with 
wicker basket hats  
and licked the plate
after a particularly delicous meal.

So you slipped it on and set
the other aside, next to
the wide seventies ties and
the sneakers worn thin 
across the toes.

But it's too late to change back now.

If you discard this new suit
I promise not to laugh
while you stand naked,
pale skin showing
who you really are.