Old clothes… [POEM]

I remember
making stonewashed jeans
with bleach
learning hard the lessons
that momma tried to teach
and getting hand me downs
trying to turn them around
into something
creases make old clothes
seem less old
wrinkled new clothes
are just bold
but I remember being told
“Doesn’t matter what you wear”
“Doesn’t matter that they stare”
“You just wear what I can afford”

I remember
wanting a “First Down”
and being told
to go out
and make some first downs
then I could have
whatever coat
that I could afford
to cover up
who I really was
and so I got whichever coat
came on
“a single mother
with three kids
and all the other bullshit that
she had to deal with”
so the one
with the matching
hat, scarf, and mitts
it is

I remember
dreaming of a pair of Jordan’s
we couldn’t afford them
not even the thought
was economical,
my image,
momma chose to be smart
because of these shoes
pros have wings
and Payless
has pro wings
momma knows best
but momma
don’t know things
like the difference
between what pros wear
and those things

I remember
knowing what it was like
to want
something like
a “Gordon Gartrell”,
or Used, or Damage,
or Pelle Pelle
or something airbrushed,
“Jodeci” boots
always back of the class
I wanted to front
like I had it
all I had was
what was most important
at the time
but not so popular
in my mind,
the ability to remember
what it was like
to not have to worry
about it


©2013 Cornelious “See” Flowers


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