On Corduroy

Valentine's poem coming next week! Hope you survived the super bloody blue moon. My dear friend Rain just called it the "cry of the heart" moon. Bring it. 

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On Corduroy


This poem is dedicated to a stranger at Starbucks
who this morning as I stood at the coffee condiment bar
and added half and half to my Americano,
said, “Corduroys, you don’t see those much anymore.”

Ribbed...
I glanced down at my brick red cords, slightly bell bottomed
pincord they might be classified, 
I didn't tell him I chose them as I was bleeding
but did accept the invitation for conversation.

Wide wale...
He remarked on how much warmer cords were
and how for men they are no longer in style.
We commiserated about the 90’s,
missing pleated corduroy trousers
and blazers even, those with elbow patches.

Channel and cuff...
I pointed out my wool sweater,
and he said he used to buy cashmere at Nordstrom’s.
When he accidentally shrank his sweaters in the wash
he would donate them at his old church down south,
the girls would take and wear them.
Apparently around here the girls are snooty
and say “we don’t want your old clothes.”

Ridged form of velvet...
He was a little more tailored than I,
wearing designer but understated jeans,
nice black leather boots,
he was well groomed and I imagined nice smelling.
Size XL because of his wide chest,
his cashmere must be a ladies' medium when laundered.
The fibers perfectly felted,
against bare skin, like a hug.