Sleepless I lay last night and watched the slow <br />Procession of the men who wear my clothes: <br />First, the grey man with bloodshot eyes and sly <br />Gestures miming what he loves and loathes. <br /> <br />Next came the cheery knocker-back of pints, <br />The beery joker, never far from tears, <br />Whose loud and public vanity acquaints <br />The careful watcher with his private fears. <br /> <br />And then I saw the neat mouthed gentle man <br />Defer politely, listen to the lies, <br />Smile at the tedious tale and gaze upon <br />The little mirrors in the speaker's eyes. <br /> <br />The men who wear my clothes walked past my bed <br />And all of them looked tired and rather old; <br />I felt a chip of ice melt in my blood. <br />Naked I lay last night, and very cold. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Andrew Mayers<br /><br />Vernon Scannell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-men-who-wear-my-clothes/
