Even though
I suspect deep-down
that they won't fit
I carry them off
to the half-privacy
of the changing room
with its all-revealing
mirrors.

Stripping off
familiar comfort
I ease on the tight-fitting
ideas which once
I left, shapeless, on
the hanger outside
my mind. Full-formed
images now, they

fashion
my determination,
cut-out my future,
accentuate the up-lift
of a sand-filled
hour-glass existence
until finally

my intellect looks good in this.