The Jeans He Bought Me
Creased, crisp,
they cupped my curves
slyly, stretching so nice
over Christmastime thighs.
The casual shrug of denim
held my hips, and that
beautiful break at the knee…
They had
a tenor zipper,
firm brass button,
hems tucked neat, sweet,
I could swear they smelled like his cologne.
But the zip stopped,
button popped,
the knee stretched thin and then it cracked,
had to be patched,
grass stains sprouted,
mud speckled the heels.
I scrubbed
and scrubbed.
The hems fell and
I don’t know when,
but this old blue skin just
stopped holding me.
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