FILENE'S Basement--Boston
And the doors could barely contain them.
The thoroughbred ladies.
Ready to race
at the stroke of the clock's hand
for discount linen and lace.
And I was swept in
by an animated, cackling
feminine wave,
soon eyeing
the salesman
eyeing me
as I was transformed-
polished into a well-healed
businessman
in a double-breasted suit,
and the clerk cracked by my side
"Hey, kid, ain't she a beaut?"
And I fingered the starched
collars of multi-colored
Arrow shirts
and I admired the crusty, ancient saleswoman
who still had the desire and energy to flirt.
And where else
could you drape your wounds
with a funky Fedora
or the balm of a soft,
slightly irregular Brooks Bros. shirt
it was a place to go when you were happy
or desperately hurt.
Doug Holder
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