Saturday, July 16, 2016

Ode to My Garden Pants

                   When I was looking for shorts,
                   you were there for me. 
                   You were longer than
                   what I had wanted.  Oh,
                   but you were so comfortable. 
                   When I had you on,
                   I barely even knew
                   you were there.  Well, that is
                   until you started to stain. 

                   I had tried cleaning you. 
                   I really had.  The stain
                   was just too stubborn
                   . . . or so I believed
                   Gradually you became my garden pants
                   as you were stained anyway,
                   what was a little dirt (as I mention in this post)
                   You protected me from the heat of the sun.
                   I appreciated that.  You must have had
                   connections with the sun. 

                   It removed the stains that
                   I could no longer find.  Still
                   I kept wearing you each week
                   when we'd clean the church,
                   each week we worked in the garden. 
                   I am so sorry you got torn
                   over the years.  It was
                   bound to happen.  I had you
                   for many years.

                   I still had you when
                   we moved to Oregon. 
                   I no longer worked in the garden. 
                   I did a rather pathetic patch work
                   on you and made you my
                   paint pants - which may have been
                   a demotion rather than
                   a promotion.  How sad
                   you looked. 

                   Still you continued
                   to serve me. 
                   I may have not noticed you still -
                   except for that stupid patch. 
                   That actually became annoying
                   after a while. 
                   You continued to rip -
                   well at least one leg. 

                   I hadn't noticed until today -
                   until I went to take your picture -
                   that you were also torn
                   just below my left cheek. 
                   The sun wasn't even out for
                   the last day you were worn.

                   There is a tear in my eye
                   as I toss you in the garbage can. 
                   You were so good to me. But you
                   have fulfilled the measure
                   of your creation. 
                   Good-bye, dear friend.
                   I shall surely miss you.

                                                                                    - kfralc

No comments:

Post a Comment