i slip depression on like an old pair of jeans
softened and pliable with the familiarity of time
this tear on the knee is where i scraped it
when i fell down on the concrete
that was harder than it looked
that patch covers the place where the fabric
was worn through by time and use
and too much worrying
stuck in my pocket is the spare key to the fire safe
where all the valuables are kept,
tangled in the threads of the seam
the bottom hem has lost its stitching,
and the fabric is frayed,
more white than the blue it once was
and though i would look nicer
in a sharp pleated skirt
or a well-ironed pair of slacks,
these jeans know my skin in a way
that brings me the needed solace
of an old friendship that will soon be gone
— ptkh 112019
