Pants Don't Fit Me Right

As my head sped toward the concrete

My life flashed before my eyes

Just as I’d heard it would

But the scenes were not of my first love sitting in an empty apartment wearing white

Or of the pain as she drove down that ally for the last time

There were no scenes of the hirings and firings that had dragged me up and down the ladder of human accomplishment

Not a single image scrolling past held the face of my dear sweet mother

I was confused by image after image of various tailor shops I’d passed

My cloths, hairline and posture reflected the decade

Taylor shops have always looked the same

Friendship tailor on 16^th, Alterations while-u-wait in Los Angeles, The Tidy Tailor in Portland Main

I would never have believed that in one lifetime a body could have passed so many tailor shops

Some I remembered, having walked past them many times in my daily grind

Others were forgotten shops I’d walked quickly past, my thoughts not on my hem-lines

I inquired into the strange collage of tailors passed when I later had the opportunity to chat with The Creator

Though I suspect he was more of a department store Creator

On of The Creators “helpers”

Like Santa, he has many

He told me that the great slide show of death shows the dying only the defining moments of their life

And as I stared into his steel gray eyes I didn’t need to hear another word

Understanding flooded into me

Pants Don’t Fit Me Right

I never had the figure that pants on the rack were meant to adorn

Nude, I did not appear particularly unique

It was all a matter of inches

My ass started an inch to high

My pelvis tilted forward the slightest degree

I was a body in need of a custom fit

But I had not considered myself the tailored type

I’d aspired to transcend the vanity of those who spend their time and money on getting the perfect fit out of their trousers

My energies were spent on attempts at bettering myself

I read the important books

I watched my diet as best I could and jogged whenever I’d been seduced by a pint of Ice Cream

I worked hard and kept my eyes open to opportunity

Men with a better fit shot past me toward the executive offices

I turned my attention to my extra circular activities

I wrote my stories, and poetry

But I was never the darling of the café scene

Those with mannequin-like physiques stole my adoration

Men who’d developed a friendship with the Friendship Taylor had better adventures to write about

They’d been invited to taste of more passion,

had been let in on the secrets of every bar, beach and dark ally

Women, slave to the Darwinian impulses that govern us all had not been able to get past this defect that they were not even consciously aware of.

The sloppy way my pants hung, unevenly from my faulty waist had advertised to all “UNSUTABLE FOR BREEDING”

A bright neon sign, flashing on and off, all my life

If only I’d known