Holeyness

No one really looks askance When someone’s wearing holey pants And rips may vary by degrees, Especially around the knees. There was a time if clothes were torn, They ceased to be the ones you’d worn, For clothing, ripped, made one look poor, Without the cash to hit the store. Then hippie days upset that rule And worn-out ragged jeans looked cool. We rarely changed our dungarees And earned those windows for our knees. But now some jeans come well-equipped With shredded sections, neatly ripped; Yet such a shortcut seems so strange, A backwards step to signal change.