Clothes Make The Man Poem by C.R. Ebowski

Darkness bleeds through the window,
Rejecting the soft light in the room.
A cold chill can be felt through the brick,
Smothering the steam from the bathroom.

Work clothes hang neatly inside of a closet,
Starched and pressed to utter perfection.
The color scheme is not impressive by any means,
But when worn, ones mortality is never a question.

As the sun peaks up behind the earth,
I stare in the mirror, measuring my importance
Glancing over my unwavering stature,
I realize the significance of this inheritance

Reporting to work never felt so prevalent,
Realizing the sacrifices that I must endure.
The name tag worn tells me who I am;
The US ARMY reminds me of whom I insure.