Memory Shirt - for April 26th
Time to get dressed for the writers salon,
Need a wardrobe to match power creativity;
I excavate through the closets and racks,
There has got to be a perfect match.
Aha! There it is, that shirt I wore in Chicago,
back in the nineties with Hal and Dennis;
we turned heads parading down Halsted,
somehow, I felt eyes aplenty bore into me.
Were they wanting to rob or hurt me?
More like curiosity tinged with interest:
who is this stranger wearing a poly chromatic
shirt with all those speckles, hues and tones?
That afternoon was full of wonder for me as well,
taking in all the sights and sounds of the district.
After a whirlwind night of drink and laughter,
I remember making it back to the hotel around 3 AM.
The shirt came out only rarely since then,
such were the memories imbued thereon:
Why spoil them with more pedestrian fare?
But this day, this Salon seems worthy enough.
So out it comes, and I launder it with care.
It sparkles and catches the light so fine - wet;
I toss it in the dryer with a few other items,
and then get involved in other matters.
It dries to a crisp, and shrinks apace,
the aged material just not up to the heat.
My once-fine shirt has lost a size...
And I have gained at least two,
since those halycon days.
Twenty years ago.
Back to the racks I go,
hunting for a last-minute compromise.
They will surely understand;
they are writers after all.