In charcoal hand he jots all dimension, this merchant of befores and afters. Dust clumps on the hollow skulls of his mannequins, shedded sleeve-tags lie in a litter of failed metric. Final suits for send-offs require an eye down to the lining. Rails of clothes bristle, awaiting their bodies as the sharp coil of his tape measure retracts, a lizard tongue to its trap. Buttons up into the evening and can feel the days ahead coming on him like an unseamed thread that you pull and you pull. Published in 'Rosebud'