He had taken to wearing a waistcoat

He had taken to wearing a waistcoat

They might call a vest in the States

When everyone knows

A vest is worn underneath a shirt

Not over it

He thought it made a statement,

He was a man of substance, not to be ignored

Not a sad man

With a gripe

Wearing a flat cap, smoking a pipe

Sitting on a bench overlooking the sea

Waiting for happy hour

To buy a pint

On days like these,

It would more likely be a shandy.

Today he had other plans,

Perhaps dinner was too risky

As a first date

But it was better by half

Than soup in a bowl, on a tray

In front of the box

Wearing a dressing gown and old bed socks

Single men

What are they like?

There was a loose thread hanging down

From a button,

Did he look less like lamb and more like mutton

Should he try to pull it off

Or burn it with a match

Not that he had one…who did?

And he was worried if he gave it a tug

His clothes would unravel

Like an old cartoon rug

And he would meet his date,

Who in truth was running late,

Standing, not in a whistle and flute

But wearing a birthday suit,

And that would never do.

You have to keep them guessing

To make a good impression

It is better to stimulate the brain

Than to appear overconfident

Arrogant or vain

Perhaps he should remove the vest.

If his wife was alive

She would know what was best

But that would be something

Completely different

And he wouldn’t be outside

The Fat Duck,

Pushing his luck

In a shabby waistcoat

That might be a vest

Waiting for a long-haired redhead

In a black shift dress

And Jimmy Choo shoes

To make an entrance

“Ahh, here she comes

Gosh, she is so tall

Not as I imagined at all…

What will she see in me?

Oh my and bloody hell…this will not end well.”