Sharon A. Larsen

I take the shirt out of the hotel closet,
the new shirt I’ve bought
because the season’s changed.
I see it has not packed well,
is wrinkled,
but then, so am I.
I have not packed well, I know it.
The caretaker of this body
found other things to do
while hair thinned and grayed,
teeth crumbled, jowls appeared.
The TV commercials tell me what I need –
a pill to lose weight,
surgery to smooth my brow,
a cream to volumize my hair,
another to make it gleam
young and strong and brown again.
I have no excuse for my imperfections.
But.
I don’t need an excuse for who I am,
will let you see my every wrinkle,
and if you find my color and texture pleasing,
take me off the hanger.
I do not pack well,
but I wear quite nicely.