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A million miles from Vogue

Distrust, wrote Thoreau, any enterprise
that (pause for thought) requires new clothes. How true.
All mine are old, and so it’s no surprise
I don’t get out much–strictly entre nous
that’s how I planned it. All my clothes were bought
with one eye on their gardening potential;
their thorn-proof bagginess, the mud-proof sort,
their washability is quintessential.

They wouldn’t take me to a glamorous party
décolleté and skin-tight aren’t my passion.
Not bought to sparkle with the glitterati,
and never this year’s must-have, latest fashion.
I look for comfort, warmth, and decency in age,
and anything that styles itself “robust”.
They grow much like each other, mainly beige.
Or green. But plain. Whatever. I’m not fussed.

D A Prince