You Were Feeling Like a Kid

You toss them to the ground, they don’t beckon or call, They’re a pair of jeans, and to the ground they fall, They stay as long as you threw them, Yet they could stand tall, When they’re on you they suit you, But not for a ball, Not for an evening out, Not for work, but for play, And tomorrow may be a laugh, So maybe tomorrow will be the day, But the grass stains are seeping, Night after night, Letting the wrinkles foil, Into the creases, as tight, As it can be, it only tries to please, To stay put together, To stay for your ease, For when you next need them, For when it’s your time, For your day of laughter, For the next clock to chime, 8 am Saturday, You were feeling like a kid, And wore those jeans again, But somehow they hid, Under the rest of your clothes that you seem to like more, More than the old pair you tossed on the floor, at the start of the summer, When seasons changed, Or was it people? Because we all know that those 4 seasons stay the same, It’s the people that drug you, Not the time, or places, They made you, Replaced you, Hated you just for their faces, They couldn’t stand you for being a size too small, They couldn’t stand you for not being as tall, As their growing bodies, Even when it’s time to move on, From your favorite pair of jeans, Since you’ve gotten so long, You’ve both changed since last summer, Worn out and new, To you it’s just a pair of jeans, But it’s felt everything you do, The rolling down the hills, Toppling through fields, A sprinkle of water, A scratch to the heels, Those jeans may just be thrown in the giveaway pile, But every grass stain remains, Worth to reconcile, This denim has known you since you first put them on, And tied a belt, looped it twice, and pulled the elastic strong, Up until now, when the last button won’t stay, Until they’ve turned into high waters, Until they’ve gone astray, Still sitting under that pile, It breathes a heavy sigh, It knows now, jeans, It’s time for your goodbye, It doesn’t know if it will go on, To be a better pair, For another bright day, For another new year, It’s not sure if this is the end of the line, Rips tethered on, A small stitch might help it shine, A yard sale, thrift store, anything else but trash, It doesn’t want to be known as the brand that everyone wants last, It was a good pair, and it lasted good and well, Well enough to stay with one human, who in spirit you could tell, Was like that pair of jeans, Sturdy, but kind, Strong, happy, one who speaks their mind, Not afraid to show their stains, to display the rips for show, To show everybody that they could live and be known, That they weren’t made to be the toughest brand, They weren’t made to be the most, Durable, powerful, able to boast, They were made to withstand any pressure of a kid, They were sensitive but stretchy, They were mindful of any skids, Concrete couldn’t touch them, Maybe a mark or two, But the scrapes would never tear a hole, It would never follow through, The stains may still be there, But the jeans are still washed clean, And they may be older, But they’re not like any jeans you’ve ever seen.