Ode to Sweats

I don’t often write poetry, but when I do it’s usually silly. This poem is no exception. This is in honor of the coldish weather we may or may not be getting tonight.

Ode to Sweats

Some days I wake up

if I’m lucky

and rise to meet the cool, brilliant light

of another winter morning,

blinding me.

Staggering, squinting, staring

into the mirror.

I know

today was made for sweats

and a hat.

 

My sweatshirt.

Big, purple, forgiving

Gained ten pounds or lost twenty-five.

Bra? Deodorant?

No one knows but me

and God, but he saves

his eye for the sparrow,

not my underwire and armpits.

 

My sweatpants

or Hubcap’s.

Neither of us can tell anymore.

My hat,

stained with sweat, smoke, grease

of a hundred camping trips.

It used to be green.

 

I put it all on

and stand there.

Comfortable.

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