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Posted on July 15, 2011 at 5:19 AM

You are what you wear, Sutcliffe said,

You wear what you are. O’Brien laughed.

In that case, Eddie, you’re well alive,

Because you wouldn’t be seen dead


In those clothes.  Sutcliffe brushed off

The jacket, disturbing the dandruff,

Loose blonde hairs took flight about him.

They’re hand me downs, Sutcliffe moaned,


Not what I’d have chosen by a long chalk.

When money’s scarce, you wear what

You’re given. Dead man’s cloth to be sure,

Dan Davies added, look at the lapels.


You could plant a rosebush in that flower

Hole there. My mother said, it fits well enough,

Sutcliffe said. It fits where it touches,

O’Brien held, laughter in the tone of voice.


And the trousers have fallen out with

The socks, going by the distance between

Them, Dan Davies joked. Sutcliffe gestured

With his digit raised skyward. You are what


You are, O’Brien stated, you wear what is

At hand or takes your fancy or will pull

The girls into your arms. Eddie’s cloth will

Draw the moth or frighten away the crows


Wearing those clothes, Dan Davies said.

O’Brien laughed again. Sutcliffe sighed.

He smelt the jacket. Scent of death.

Something thereabouts had died.

Categories: Poetry & Lyric, Terry Collett

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