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Rated: E · Poetry · Fashion · #2095338
Time for a new suit.

I was told I needed a new suit, so I
headed to the Men’s Warehouse to
buy one.  A gaunt man with glasses
greeted me eagerly, a cloth tape
measure draped around his neck
and a grin as wide as piano keys. 

“You need a suit, sir?”  “I do,” I
succinctly replied, and he ushered
me with a straight arm to the back
of the store.  There, I saw a blue-white
sign, pulsing at thirty flashes per second
that said, “Suits of Space. “ I was intrigued
yet I was also put off. 

“Uh, no,” I uttered, yet he with the will
of gravity and the brash of gamma-ray
burst, insisted I at least try on a coat.
So I did, and before I knew it I was
wearing an entire suit, wherein
sixteen moons and sixteen
hundred stars
combined
to accentuate the suede.

Glorious the garment,
resplendent are Triton, Io
and other moons great and
small, glory to Rigel, to Sirius,
to the red giants like Betelgeuse…
So splendid is the sun.  The cosmos
was me as I, a heavenly light stood tall
as ceiling lights paled and all the auxiliary
lighting bowed and even daylight itself
seemed to pause for a moment
of respect.

How was I to pass, then, on such
a suit?  The sun and the moon and
the stars with only slight alterations
needed—a universe of fashion.


36 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
9-3-16
_____
Requirement:
Must include: “Sixteen moons and sixteen hundred stars.”
© Copyright 2016 Don Two (dannigan at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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