Poetry Corner

Those Blue Pants


By: Rebecca Fisher

2002



He wears blue pants.

He wears them all of the time.

The same blue pants all of the time.

They are not the same blue as when he first bought them, as he has worn them so much.

Worn more than washed.


I can see where he keeps his few belongings in the back.

There is a line, worn and white around the edge.

The hems are worn too, frayed along the edge,

Lightly scraping the ground with each step.

At least two years old.


Is it more than just the pants?

He’s the same every day.

Washed more than I wear him,

A faded but similar color as when I found him.

A bit worn on some days.

Lightly dragging his feet with each step.


I think I’d be fine if he would just buy a new pair of pants.

Grey or black would be good.

Then he could change on the third day of each week and wash on the sixth.

That might help.


Use less soap and hang dry, I say.

Let’s go shop, I say.

Please, I say.

I’ll buy, I say.

I think I say too much.


I think he has a plan for the pants.

I think he does not want me to know the plan.

He likes that I don’t know the plan.

He won’t hear me nag or rag on his pants.

He likes them.

He says they fit well and make him calm.


I think of the pants on fire.

I think of them lost for good.

I think of him without those pants.


Fine, I say.

Keep the damn things, I say.

Wear them all you want, I say.

I won’t rag or nag.

But I will buy new pants,

And make you feel bad when you don’t wear them.