‘You’ll soon grow into it,’ she would say
When buying a school blazer three sizes too big.
And she was right as mothers usually are.
Syrup of figs. Virol. Cod liver oil.
Within a year I did grow into it
By then, of course, it was threadbare.
Pulling in different directions
My clothes and I never matched.
And in changing-rooms nothing has changed.
I can buy what I like and when
New clothes that are a perfect fit.
Full-length mirror, nervous grin,
It’s me now that’s threadbare, wearing thin.