Sylvie Hill

These Regal Men

These regal men dressed in suit pants
Like my Dad. And sharp shoes.
The Italian I dated like Vincent Cassel.
This one’s umbrella – like London.
And you in your grey suit.
“Every man needs a good suit.”

These regal men dressed in black coats
Like my Dad. And the umbrella.
And the nice leather shoes, expensive socks
And a bag of sushi dinner – like Los Angeles.
And your nice leather bag you wanted.
“No I’m not buying one for her!”

And you took me to Liverpool Station.
And he took me to McGill Station.
And I took a train home feeling boyish
and hair wild without my leather purse.
Sensible shoes instead of what I’m capable of.
Those nights being a professor
Being paid lots as management
Negotiating contracts and recruitment.

I’m as powered as a man in a suit.
My shoes sharp when I choose to.
But in expensive lace things
And skin so soft, by comparison
maturity and wildness I dress up in
and the stations where I leave them.

These regal men.
I’ve got the Montblanc pen.
The regal men so manly as men
with their mysterious commitments
or loyalties fierce-as for freedom
make me want to be all woman.

Regale me in your wisdom.
I used to wear thigh highs and garter belts.
Good Goddess it was lost on a kid.
These gentlemen, this gentleman
for whom I want to be dirty and juvenile
upon his stylish garments.

Sylvie Hill, Montreal, April 2019