I never wore that Hawaiian shirt
that one aunt bought me last Christmas,
but when he reached into his fanny pack
for the fifty cents,
I reconsidered the possibilities
the fruity shirt could offer me.
Ironic dress to amuse my friends
accustomed to my fashion sense.
A veil for my gut at the beach
until I started on that six-pack.
If nothing else, a comfy shirt
to wear on laundry day.
But revelations come too late–
our hands exchanged, the shirt is gone.
I shoo away the other pests,
drag the leftovers back inside
and prepare for a shopping spree
to fill my chest with more treasures.
Leave a Reply