The Well-Dressed Man Poem by Harry St Vincent Beechey

He was there, of course, at the Races
His clothes murmuring quietly of Saville Row.
And later, at the Ball,
resplendent in tails,
Diamond studs gleaming (but in the best possible taste) .
And at the Garden Party
Where we finally lost patience
And squirted him in the crotch with a garden hose
Making it appear that he had wet himself.
But with remarkable sang froid he smilingly withdrew
Only to re-appear at every imaginable social function
Impeccably well-dressed.
In desperation we shunned him
And all the places in which he excelled.
But at the Rock Concert his jeans were the most faded
And on the beach his swim togs superbly cut.
A last hope.
A place where even he could never shine.
At the.Nudist Club
Where all men are equal
We took our refuge.
But who should meet us, smiling, at the gate,
Supremely well hung
And with an even, golden tan
It was…
But you have guessed it.
The well-dressed Undressed man!

H.St.V.B 1972