Dressing Poem by Robert Melliard

I fling open wardrobe doors
and take the first shirt I see
and the first pair of trousers,
then I pull out a drawer
and grab the nearest underwear
and neutral-coloured socks.

Once dressed, I avoid my reflection.

My wife, on the other hand,
stares at all her garments,
tries several on,
discards them,
then tries them on again.

She thinks about colours, contrast,
style, texture, and whether
certain clothes make her look fatter,
thinner, older or younger,
and who knows what else...

She checks her appearance
in a full-length mirror.

When it's over, she looks like a queen.