Shirts

Enter the room with that delighted smile
You're so enamoured of, that dopey grin
That shows what state your lower gums are in,
And make remarks about the makeshift style
Of our apartment. Yes, I have a file
Of all your peccadilloes, every sin
You've tried on, like complaining I'm too thin
Or leaving your dress shirts here in a pile.

No, I don't want your hand-me-down dress shirts,
With plackets and stiff collars, blue and black,
And lectures about wearing off-the-rack.
It isn't that your kindness comes in spurts,
Or that it isn't kindness when it hurts;
Those are some ugly rags, boy. Take them back.