(from the SLCC prompt: write a poem about the fabric of your life (literally or figuratively).)
He mentions my red flannel shirt
first when he tells the story
of seeing me around campus.
He tells people it was like
my uniform but he enjoyed
rubbing his cheek against it
and he liked to borrow it
for quick runs to the bathroom
when his roommates were in
and he rolled his eyes when
I wore it to work one day
after we’d moved to the city
and he stuck his finger in the hole
in the elbow when we were
working in the garden one spring
and then he tsked when I tried
to wear it out one night
when we were meeting friends
and he doesn’t know that it is
still in a box I keep in the basement
with my old letters and poems.
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