Dirty Pants


I had a pair of dirty pants
Who from the wash refrained
I felt so bad refreshing them;
Preferred them old and stained.
They fell apart by crotch and knee
And smelled of soaking hound
Repelled all humankind from me
But what a life they’d found:
Those old blue kecks with cotton tails
Had stories to be poured
They’d been with me on mountains, lakes
And lived a life outdoors.
They’d soaked in blood when once I fell,
And held my bonebreak firm
They’d soaked up as a bandage would
And saved from squeam and squirm.
These stinky holey trousers that
Came with me to the births
They drank up surfing waters 
And revealed a source of mirth
By then they were just Daisy Dukes
With pockets hanging out 
They’d shrunk and failed but gained so much;
A mask of hidden clout
These trews of blue, these denim jeans
They’d hidden marks of stretch
They’d cradled all three bumps of mine
And cuddled as I retched
They were my denim blanket and
They’re here, through all their strife
They’re in a grave of olden clothes
Cloth photographs of life.
I’ll never give my pants away;
My jeansome teddy bears.
A memory of memories
Kept here, within their tears.

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