Seeking The Ultimate Mismatch


My clothes, bunched in a pile

Hiding inside wicker,

A fragile basket

After a cleansing wash

And a bout with tumble dry

Wanting to be rid of all dirt

Smells, and experiences

Of the last week

Or any week’s past


I’m not ready to hang them

In their place

Where plastic hangers

Await to reestablish the norm

Which is my norm

Which is our norm

Hiding in the closet

A constructed confinement



I pick them from the basket

Wrinkled, some of them

Others unaffected.

I pull at a sleeve, or a

Pant leg, the fuzz of a sock

A moment of chaos

Stretching seconds into

The loss of the final choice

Of the daily mix and match


Yet, they are the same

Once placed upon my body

Worn in the same fashion

As the week before

Contact will be made


With the same old smells


Who was I fooling?

Fashion chaos or the ordered closet

Only have finite amounts

Of time……Each…..

to adorn, decorate,

My linear body, with

Cuffs too short for winter

Waste size expanding

Until garage sale or thrift store

Replaces all my norm and chaos

With other versions of closet space

And clothes lines.

Still, I seek to deconstruct

My fashion sense


24 thoughts on “Seeking The Ultimate Mismatch

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