The Jacket (Poetry)

Maroon linen— a classic cut
it hung on narrow plastic shoulders
dangling its bargain sale price ticket
waiting to be worn — shown off
as chic — the gilted buttons winked
hopeful of an outing all the while
dust settled comfortably
homed along the weave.

She never wore it — only
slipped it on the day
that impulse made her buy it —
frivolous — the purchase made her feel
a class above — a lady in the glass
and think, maybe, a fitting time might come
for a parade — a sashay and a twirl —
a touch of class — a taste of tailored style.

The time was never right —
the jacket stayed empty of her
movements — uninvolved with living
the mundane too day to day —
and that special occasion
never arose for dressing to the nines.
Fate chose her far more serviceable clothes
than the silks she often dreamed in.

And afterwards the jacket disappeared —
to charity perhaps — a lost ideal
slightly faded — the price tag intact
buttons tarnished but a bargain still.