Fashion Conscious

I’m not fashion conscious
But I’m conscious of fashion
And how irrational nationally our
Splashing of clothing cash can be
Yet invariably I spend Saturdays in Peterborough city
Like other attached males
Drifting behind my girlfriend during a Top Shop sale
While she becomes Ahab,
every blouse her white whale
I wait outside the changing room,
eyeing price tags growing pale
And while the girls rev their way
through a range of elaborate costumes
The guys offer each other weak nods trapped outside fitting rooms
Our Arms loomed round shopping bags like huge forearmed baboons
Each contemplating our imminent and very private dooms
Because it won’t be long my friend, believe me very soon
That curtain
Will
Rustle,
And out she will zoom
Or rather, waddle in what she thinks an alluring slink
And then those 6 deadly words
‘Be honest, what do you think?’
Now trust me guys, any kind of answer requires a stiff drink
And as a poet I’m well versed in the use of adjectives
But you’re stumbling makes me feel Victor Frankenstein
I just need to shriek out ‘she lives’
And can they really sell a crop top for this much when it’s just a pair of old sieves?
If this what they wear on Greys anatomy?
I mean come on now, what gives?
And I’d tell you what I think but I don’t think you’d let me live.
Ok…Here goes.
I don’t care
If the Gucci is fitting you loosely
Or if the Armani looks a bit barmy
The Versace looks a bit tarty
Or Tommy Hilfiger makes your bum look bigger
I don’t care
What you wear
None of it means I’m impressed
I don’t mind standing watching you trying on dress after dress
Or these questions,
though they feel like a bit of a test
Because the truth is
It’s when you ain’t got any clothes on,
That’s when you look your best.