Second Hand


My love is an old pair of jeans
Frayed at the edges, with a few holes
Nothing fancy, second or third or fourth hand
Worked in just right though
So when you put it on
It fits well, something comfortable you can wear
On Sundays doing housework
Or lazy autumn walks through the park.

My love is a little battered
A favorite old book, foxed, dog eared
Bearing coffee stains, ink smears where someone wept
Pages wrinkled, torn, thumbed through
Thrown at the wall in anger, dropped into
A used bookshop bin, rummaged through
You know the kind, the ones you find right at the bottom
Unearthed like treasure, that know well and long for
The touch of your hands.

My love is as disreputable
As the faces in Tom Waits songs, slow horns
Tired, rusted, junk drawer pocket watch
Forgotten religious meddles covered in reverent thumbprints
Shabby suited, rumpled, hat in hand
Two bit, low rent, shy shoe two step shuffling
Glad any spare change smiles
You care to toss my way.

It isn’t what it used to be, my love
No, I don’t get to play the hero any more
The white charger got traded in
For a worn out, sad eyed heavy horse broken to the plow
Not quite as flashy, but still possessed of a slow, steady strength
Retired from the lists but still worth a lifetimes labor,
Ready to pull till my heart bursts
Willing to grind itself to dust in hopeless devotion.

So that’s what you get, something used up
But a few good miles left,
Held together with twine and duct tape
It isn’t pretty, but it’ll run
And maybe, just maybe it can still go the distance.

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One Response to “Second Hand”

  1. seeds of truth Says:

    “So that’s what you get, something used up
    But a few good miles left,
    Held together with twine and duct tape
    It isn’t pretty, but it’ll run
    And maybe, just maybe it can still go the distance.”

    my little walnut of a heart

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