Mister Suit is pressed today
as he walks to work on the concrete
just recently uncovered from snow.
The dark blue cloth is well creased,
well cleaned; and the black, neatly
tied shoes click nicely. Between
leather and the cuff, his socks betray
through frayed web of threads:
his white heel. Without slaves,
how much it costs, to well maintain
the armor of a work a day world.
published in Northern Journeys, vol. 2, no. 3, Oct.-Dec., 1998.
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