A Sad but [Mostly] True Poem

My husband the preacher so solemn and tall

Wears his suit every Sunday to preach from the Word

He’s had it for years and it’s gray, made of wool

Conservative, durable, far from absurd.

But despite all his caution the pants became worn

And finally developed a hole in the seat.

Like a good Christian wife I attempted to mend

But there was no way I could make it look neat.

Since the jacket was also too worn to keep wearing,

“We need to go shopping,” we said to each other,

“But how can our Mennonite conscience allow

Us to go to the trouble of buying another?”

For all of our children are still very single

And there is no wedding for which to prepare!

How else can we justify such an investment?

Yet neither to preach without suit would he dare.

So we headed to town and went hunting at Sears

Where only two offerings hung on the rack.

“The tan’s too flamboyant for Mennonite tastes,

And all of my dandruff will show on the black.”

We drove to Mr. Formal where the ties were all pink

And all the lapels were shiny with satin.

“Don’t think so,” we said, united in purpose,

 And drove to the mall while romantically chattin.’

At last what a treasure of suits was before us.

Surely the right one was here for the finding.

But this one was corduroy and that one too short,

And that one too Baptist. Too gangster.  Too binding.

This looks used-car-salesman and that one's too skinny

For middle-aged middles that tend to expand.

This one is nice but it’s oh so expensive

And that one’s lapels have that odd extra band.

A jacket was perfect in texture and shade

But "Sorry, this line was changed for the season

I’ll check on my iPhone if your size is in back.

Nope, not a one, can’t tell you the reason."

Two proper jackets we finally found.

To find matching pants we set off on a quest.

Do they think every man in this town is a dwarf,

As all of the inseams are 30 or less.

With sinking of heart, Paul tried on what we had

And nothing was suitable; all our work bore no fruit.

So we hung up the garments and faced our defeat,

And the Mennonite minister still has no suit.