My choice of clothes

is mine, I shall not

wear a suit,

suffer a tie around

my ageing neck,

I might stretch

to a cravat, but then

that would be ironic,

me to a tee, I would rather

be damned for wearing

a ballgown

than endure the ridicule

of looking like a soggy stuffed up

potato, full of misplaced

pride, no starch, no starch

at all, not stiff,

put me in a costume, let me be

in fancy dress, clown that I am