Poetry About Jean Jacket

The jacket has faded most where the elbows learned my shape. Copper buttons click shut against the first cold evening. A concert ticket sleeps in the pocket beside a grocery list. One torn cuff was mended with thread a shade too bright. Denim records weather, work, dancing, and years without explanation. Patches make a map of bands, towns, causes, and former selves.

A concert ticket sleeps in the pocket beside a grocery list. It belonged to my brother before the shoulders fit me. Fashion returns to what ordinary people never fully stopped wearing. The cloth softens while the seams continue holding their ground. A jacket can become familiar enough to feel like posture. Blue grows more personal each time the fabric loses color.

The jacket has faded most where the elbows learned my shape. Denim records weather, work, dancing, and years without explanation. Patches make a map of bands, towns, causes, and former selves. The cloth softens while the seams continue holding their ground. I hang it by the door with tomorrow already in its pockets. Blue grows more personal each time the fabric loses color.