When they grow up they dress in a new life:
a family of new suits and shirts to wear.
And the ties are new too.
He strides out on his new catwalk
proudly wearing his new self,
blind to the day the cloth may unravel
or fade or lose its style.
What will clothe him then?
I shall not grace his shoulders again:
I am the coat he has outworn
in my pockets are his memories
my cloth no longer warms
and perhaps my line is no longer right.
If he sees me in his cupboard
it will be to wonder why I still remain
and he has not rid himself of me.
I am no more than his past:
a presence felt beneath the mind
but still I hang there, quietly fading.