Monday, January 12, 2015

Wool That Wears



Pendleton Shirts

Wool that never wears out 
Plaids welcome in any circle
Pockets shingled with flaps and tails
That stay tucked no matter what
Yours smelling of lanoline
Mixed with gasoline
Sweat broken unloading
Imperial’s in Wheeling
Dried to salt scrim by Akron
Heroic buttons
Holding back
The minor planet of your belly
Satin labels stitched  
Into the elliptical orbits of collars
Shirts found
Sagging on hangers
At the end of the day
Exhausted from their work
Concealing the contours
Of a hounding emptiness.  

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