Francesca Martin Poetry

I haven't become your comfortable fit.
There are no holes in the knees of your jeans yet.
You are the black ink well wash that I can't seem to fade
No matter how many times thrown in the washing machine.
You only think to put me on occasionally.

But my favorite pair....
The edges of the bottom have been trodded on enough
Torn and worn so my sneakers can see
And I am a light blue shade from overexposure
With a slit across the knee and a pocket that loses all my change
And none seem to fit in the same, flattering way.

I'm coming out of the dryer once again.
Put me on and wear me every day.

Poet: Francesca Martin