Old pants

“But,” i told to my pants, “i’ve worn you until you’re old and battered and you’re still so soft and comfy to walk with and to sit on and more than 7 years old, and i’m still nervous and shy — what do i wear with you today?”

I picked a pair of briefs, — the color of soil and clay — and put it down and i picked a pair of chequered boxers, and i, put it on.

I love you, with all my heart i do, but i’m scared, like a boy i am, i’m scared, of the frayed edges that tell me your age and you’ve never spoken a merry word to me.

We talked and we laughed together, though you’re always quiet i love you, with no less than an anxious heart, i do.