A SECOND LOOK

Don't ask why but I duck in
to the damp darkened store,
adjust my eyesight and
notice headless dummies
attired in clothes I once wore,
gave up when I outgrew them
or found them too depressing,
often having been handed down
by older brothers, never
as neat as me, even putting
a crease in patched pants,
sewing an insignia over a stain,
mismatching checks and colors
to the point of absurdity,
making those who might
otherwise stare look away,
clean and neat though I was,
never a fashion plate,
not once cited as best-dressed,
always curious to examine
new fall fashions I couldn't
afford on classmates I envied -
not for their brains or
athletic abilities, just their
clothes, new clothes, never
handed down, too fine for
this store that reminds me
who I was, didn't want to be.


Bill Roberts is trying to solve the mystery of how it is his Oklahoma grandparents produces 22 offspring while he and his wife of fifty years to date have yielded none, so they adopt untrainable dogs. Bill's poetry is widespread in small-press and online magazines. He lives much too close to the edge in Broomfield, Colorado where he can be contacted at marcorosie@comcast.net.