A talk with a Smart-Suit

Yes, you think that you are smart.
Those ready buttons,
That plain white shirt,
Not a piece of dust on you.

But I can see
Beyond your face,
All your holes
And all you stitches.

You are no better
Than any other suit,
All you have
Is a smart short name.

And although people watch you,
Admire you and wish you luck,
They are only charmed
By your sleeve and collar.

But you couldn't feed everyone,
Your charm is already gone,
We stand here, an angry crowd,
And we curse your very look.

Now, to all,
You are a piece of cloth,
Something servants use
To clean to the dirty floors.