Friday, February 12, 2010

Burlap Suits

Burlap drapes over a barrel, rubbing the finish off dark wood
Steel bands circle the planks, too shiny to be of any use
Aromas of a different world are weaved into the fabric
The young man's suit coat fell off his shoulders and hung
wrong across his chest as if he had lost weight
Or bought it on the cheap
An unfinished goatee barely hides the fact that he is in too deep
The cock in his walk is that of a man that needs one
A walk
A game
A name for himself
But all he was given was a number like the stamp on the side
of a burlap sack from somewhere else
From a place where grass stains and laughter get you to the
finish line
Where happiness breaks the tape
Where a suit isn't just a suit but the fiber of
A cloak that hides the hero not holds him across a barrel
Stamped and smelling
Bar coded and selling awakenings
To a boy in his father's clothes.

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