When they grow up they dress in a new life:

a family of new suits and shirts to wear.

And the ties are new too.

He strides out on his new catwalk

proudly wearing his new self,

blind to the day the cloth may unravel

or fade or lose its style.

What will clothe him then?

I shall not grace his shoulders again:

I am the coat he has outworn

in my pockets are his memories

my cloth no longer warms

and perhaps my line is no longer right.

If he sees me in his cupboard

it will be to wonder why I still remain

and he has not rid himself of me.

I am no more than his past:

a presence felt beneath the mind

but still I hang there, quietly fading.