Oxford Blues

3 Jun

A poem about my Dad.

You had a closet full of English Leather.
A smell I still remember,
because when I was sixteen,
I would raid your collection
of blue oxford shirts,
hanging, starched and cleaned.

Allen Solly, Brooks Bros., et al
were my favorite uniform.
To my mother’s chagrin,
I refused to conform
to the current fashions
and teenage norms.

When I was sixteen,
your hand-me-down shirts
were way too big for me,
but I aspired to grow into them,

I still do.


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