A Pattern Here

I'm looking into my closet.
I have twelve pairs of khaki
pants, seven pale blue dress
shirts, six pairs of tennis shoes,
thirty one white t-shirts in
varying degrees of wear. Five
black pull over sweaters, three
pairs of brown shoes, three
pairs of black shoes, ten pairs
of jeans, enough socks to fill
two laundry baskets, and more.
Why go on. It's impossible to
right the ship now. I know
what I like, and so I will continue
the madness of buying the same
things over and over again.
I can always use another pair
of black dress pants, no cuffs.
Anything of one, I'll never wear,
never have and have no intention
of even putting it on for a trial
run out the door. But there
the orange shirt hangs, the red
blazer, the purple sweater,
the cowboy hat, the yellow pants,
the leather vest with brass
buttons, the snakeskin boots.
All new, still tagged, fresh and
unwrinkeld as they day they
were bought. This all means
something, but I don't have time
to delve deep into my inner psyche
and solve the riddle of clothes.
The store closes in an hour
and this coupon expires today.