Riding the train to Osterley,

The cuffs of my shirt dig in,

Unsettled and weary of the

Unnatural position I was in.

This strange crisp shirt,

This odd little tie,

These awkward lapels,

These ankle biting shoes.

It was all very strange for me.

Was I wearing it right?

Did I look the part?

Or were my trousers too tight?

Around me were strangers,

Dressed for once, like me.

As if in solidarity

Of my very own journey.

I sat back and observed,

How that person was wearing his suit.

How that man was tying his shoes.

And I wondered If instead, I should have

Worn my black boots.

Tiring and terrifying,

This importance of appearance.

But this journey that I was on,

Oh, I loved that.