the pants
by t. zoEy benally

worn sun bleached fibers fuzzed
it was Monday, they were there
this pair, crumpled at chain link feet
tired from Saturday, Sunday
and, who knows, maybe Friday night

Thursday the pants scared her
brazenly stretched out across the path
they dared her to step across
she thought of stories of love potions
purchased by lonely old Navajo men
half a herd for a pretty young girl
she detoured 50ft to the right

Wednesday, next week, broken hearted
pants, balled misery, curled around
tumbleweed and goat head thorns
she walked quickly past, fear lingered
she half expected a leg to dart out
wrap around her ankle, dragging
the unwanted denim after her

Tuesday afternoon the wind blew
chased the jeans towards the fence again
she caught a glimpse of a stripey sweater
left behind, almost pretty
she was half interested, and considered,
as she would in a mall, if it
would look cute on her

Friday the pants were making their way
towards the highway
weeks for them to get the hint
even one day strung up on the fence
for everyone to gawk and laugh
denim had finally got a clue
soft blue inched its way slowly
to the road formerly known as 666

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