you were a little worn around
the edges, just like the old
corduroy jacket your brother left
behind when he left home.
you only wore it on the days
when you felt like nothing else
fit—the grey days after all the
leaves had faded & fallen to the
ground to tear under your feet as
you walked down the driveway
to pick up the morning paper.
you never liked that jacket—it
was like all the things you hated
about yourself all embodied in
one beat-up corduroy jacket that
someone couldn't be bothered to