The Wrong Clothes

Lightweight packing seemed the order of the day.

All essential items packed for the trip,

Or so I thought.

 

However, on arrival at the station, all clothing was in a single bundle,

Fellow travelers hurriedly sorted their belongings from mine.

I left them alone, only asking if they could find my camouflage top and bottom,

As my first meeting required my presence as a General.

(My job, as it turned out.)

 

The pile they left had all the clothes which were mine,

Except the camouflage pants and shirt,

Which had been moved to a lower shelf,

Assumptions being made they were not mine.

Even so, I could not wear them,

As it turned out they were a civilian brand,

Either way branding me as a fake on the outside.

 

Or the inside.

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