Dear shirt,
The time has come,
My Friend.
Though you still contain all the basic properties
of a shirt,
I am not allowed to wear you
outside the house.
Holes where there shouldns't be,
paint, and
expanding foam -
(how does that even happen?)
We've been through it all,
me and you.
You and I,
we fought the college battles
together,
lucky shirt.
How could I have been expected to walk
all the way from my truck
to class
without you?
On those brutal days when
every other piece of clothing I owned
made me feel itchy and dead,
you were there.
You, who I could hide behind
proudly,
so everyone knew that I liked
The Doors.
I bought you at Wal-Mart.
And yet you are
irreplaceable, apparently.
How can it be I can't
find an exact replica of you?
How??
Anyway.
In your box you'll sit,
in our basement
for a while,
until maybe one day I decide to
make that quilt using old t-shirts
like I see on Pinterest
now and again.
Til then,
farewell,
Farewell.
