Wesley Hill Poet Free verse

The Legend In My Trousers

I carry a secret of mythical proportion,
a tall tale stitched into every pair I own.
Tailors sigh, measuring tapes surrender,
and zippers negotiate terms before dawn.

It arrives before I do,
like a parade float rounding the corner,
casting a shadow that deserves
its own weather forecast.

Park benches scoot over politely.
Doorways raise an eyebrow.
Statues whisper, "Well, that's excessive,"
and mountains feel strangely competitive.

I never mention it directly.
Why spoil a perfectly good mystery?
Let imaginations do the heavy lifting,
for they rarely travel light.

So I walk on, humble as I can be,
guardian of this improbable monument,
a living reminder that sometimes
nature enjoys showing off.

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