there are men in my closet
there’s one on each hanger
there’s one for each scarf, t-shirt, top hat, and trainer

I’m hoarding them all
they’ve been there awhile now
they grow very small
(the old men can die now)

the young men are new
and the children are old
(they make friends with new children
or so i am told)

there are people around me
and people inside me
they all smile blindly
I don't care who’s smiling