We see the sight of clothes as placed
On hangers in the store.
There, uniform in eyes behold,
Looking equal on the floor.
When these same articles of cloth
Come home and hang on us,
On bodies-just the way they are.
We wonder, what’s the fuss?
We’re each a hanger in ourself,
Displaying clothes our way.
Don’t be surprised that clothes so hung,
Don’t hang as in store’s way.