Spring Bling

 

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The lilacs bloom but I don't care;
I have to buy new underwear.
My clothing is in sad estate;
it smells a bit like old fish bait.
My socks and slacks and shirts decay;
'most everything is thin and gray.
My shoes are cracked, my cuffs are frayed,
my ties with stale food all are sprayed.
Springtime means I must resume
dressing like a wedding groom;
slacks with creases, shirts with collars
that announce I've spent some dollars;
leather belt, which gossip monger
says has grown a few feet longer;
something light in blue seersucker,
made of cotton thread and pucker.
I'd as lief just wear a toga
or, buck-naked, practice yoga --
a nudist's wardrobe just might be
the next step in economy.
Never mind the moral quandary . . .
I'd save money doing laundry!

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