Slow Dances: iii.

The man of the hour, our hero
& most beloved spokesperson
has always had a way
with clothes, namely the collection
of sorority T-shirts
which are overflowing in his closet.
His roomies, brothers,
closest friends can only wish
that they had the sorority spirit
which he always displays
like none other. (And of course,
one pair of letters is off limits
to virtually everyone
except - you guessed it,
our hero.)

Some, without surprise, are jealous
as if to say the man of the hour
is not who he says he is
or is just a honorary
so-rat member: "Well, he could
just as well be wearing his own letters
for once..." as if they harbor
some secret doubts or misgivings
about this duder's true colors.
Yet all they can do is stop, stare:
there isn't much room for them to speak
their minds about the sight
whom they're seeing all decked out
in cardinal, green & pink, etcetera.

And why? They don't have the blessing,
some kind of approval
which is needed to wear these letters
in the first place.

Yet they have to love the man
for showing his support like he does:
he does his life's work quite well,
displaying his true colors
at all times & not solely
when the occasion arises to do so.

The letters he is wearing are
a lifetime commitment he made a long
time ago, what he returns to
repeatedly for inspiration,
for love.

These letters are not / never were
a fashion statement, a fad of the day:
they were meant to be worn
for life.