The Blues

In honor of National Poetry Month, my friends at Tweetspeak Poetry are gathering a collection of poems inspired by the prompt “Show Us Your Poetry Jeans.” Follow the link here to read the creatively inspired contributions. I am adding my name to the list of contributors who are digging down to see what comes out on paper when we write about our old blue jeans. Or his blue jeans. Or our “poetry jeans”.

Join me for some intriguing poetry. See you at Tweetspeak.
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The Blues

Perhaps I should have told you long ago

That I find your smile a thing of beauty (In my eyes)

Though your grin is more akin to a swamp gator

Toothy jagged line of metal

The mechanics of which keep my pride intact

After all you’ve done for me in love

Comforting me, expanding and contracting

Allowing room for growth

Never speaking of the sliding scale

Never pouting over your place at the bottom of the heap

Of denims, cornering the market on blues

Cornflower, cobalt, Caribbean, Carolina, Cerulean

(three letters in and you are just getting started)

Secrets follow you around

Shadowing a life lived in tandem

Pre-baby, baby you were there

Post-baby, baby you know how to make a girl feel loved

Winking at me with that one brass eye

(Never telling a living soul about the times I poked your eye out, let it roll across the old pine floor)

Frankly I am worn out

You must be too

But, baby I’ve got too much living to do to stop now

They can bury me in an old pine box In my old blue jeans( the number on the itty bitty tag remains our big fat secret)

Secrets tucked in all four pockets

Keep an eye on me in the grave

And we’ll archive the antics

Between we two, when we get

To the other side

Heaven knows

You’ve got a lot of stories to tell

Be a dear

And keep your lips zipped

(Goodness knows I would hate to send you off to Goodwill)

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