Sartorial Desires

Not enough credit is given
To the outlines of men’s fashion,
Our common skin, a vision
Of equality in cotton.

And not enough thought is spared
For the lines of a working suit;
That stub of a classical age,
Like Apollo in pursuit.

From the salon to the workplace,
Gently fading at the knee,
It has somehow kept its vintage—
Like my Levi's in type III.

It’s this ageless middle finger
To historians who fuss
Over modes and its production,
Over rules of race and class.

Stay the evening, see the streetlights
Rush to mark the working day,
As Milan parades its labors
Homeward bound in tailored gray.

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