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.