just one, just one overcoat, that's all

a padded overcoat, one size too large
with orange thread lining and pockets deep enough
to hold several bottles of alcohol (my muse,
my vice, at the time) some people think
it never gets cold on the gulf coast, but don't
underestimate the strength of dampness and wind chill

that coat helped to keep me warm and huddled
and shelled and introverted
and standoffish and thorny and supposedly

but the boy on the other hand,
he was on the inside
he was part of the padding (or maybe he was the thread)
he was there to watch me open a new world for myself
across lifetimes, he helped me to discover
every path upon which I've ever walked, he helped me
to see a world where I could truly love a mansomeone

it was the right person
it was not the right time

(I know, I don't believe in time,
but I must believe in timing)

but Ash, I have to admit
I didn't take mine either, technically
neither his coat nor his heart
he gave them to me willingly, but of course,
he wanted them back

one, size small
blue notes sweater
with ripped pocket and
alternating green and blue stripes
belonged to crazy
bassist ex-boyfriend

two, one hundred percent
cotton Molson Canadian
white boxer shorts, kept
from impromptu sleepover
so fucking
(like his mouth)

three, faded black
megatron transformers
t-shirt, preshrunk and
assembled in honduras
my own blue
aeropostale mid-sleeve
too wet to wear home
you, always the gentleman
grabbed something off your
disaster area of floor
before passing out,

four, only a technicality
a gift you never wore
long-sleeved black
quicksilver slim fit, you
insisted you hated labels
you are married now
and in the army.
whatever, man.
free shirt.

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