Wardrobe Malfunction

I've ridden the roads of the Hudson Valley
From Sleepy Hollow to Walden,
From Beacon to Poughkeepsie and beyond.
Scouring secondhand shops for the perfect
Brown corduroy jacket with black suede
Elbow patches, maybe a monocle and a black
Basque beret to round out the uniform
Guaranteed to garner literary respect
In the grand old taverns of New York City
Where numb neurons engage in battle with the coat
Providing pauldron, plackart and chainmail protection
Against the high minded and the dirty lowdown.
I stop off at a consignment shop by the river
Rummaging through the closets of the dead
Where a ghost of a seaman whispers in my ear
That I might look quite fetching in a flapper's
Sequined cocktail dress from the twenties.
I keep that in mind but the clothes racks spin on
As I sort through gold nehru suits, leather chaps,
Iridescent green tie dyed tees and bell bottoms.
A shinola brown blazer with gray patches catches
My eye and I do the once over in an ornate mirror
Where at first glance I'm thinking GQ but then it's PU
As like the picture of Dorian Gray morphing,
My image shadows a portly Shrek like creature.
A crime against nature and I realize that even dressed
To the nines the beast within shall not change.
I walk out with a bruised ego in tow but with a soul
Totally sold on not dressing for success but rather
Convalescing in the asylum of my skin.