My Santiago

Ode to an obedient man

He holds the shirt up, Both hopeful and tentative at the same time, The look in his eyes, Saying perhaps this time “I’ve got it right”, “Picked the right garment for myself

She turns, And looks, Lips pursed, head cocked to her left, Keeping him in suspense for an elongated murmuring minute, (his world on edge) Then shakes her head, “No, that won’t do, dear”, And he, He places the shirt back on the rack, Sheepish that he even tried to dress himself; Now a meticulous metre behind her, As she weighs up garments, ties, shirts, belts, - His personality - And pays for each at the counter of obedient souls;

No refunds on this.