His coat of several years—
an acoustic blue and thyme puffer
morphed into kangaroo pockets.
It hordes crumpled store receipts
(with barely visible ink), napkins
taken from Dunkin Donuts and other
things from wherever else he frequents.
His life could be said to reside in the pockets.
His mini Gideon book of Psalms
with too many dog-eared pages
gone through rain and coffee stains
remains with loose sheets. It’s okay,
he has internally stored it, unless
his mind decides to pack up and leave.
Aside from this there are more
important waning, fading particulars
that can’t fit into his coat, which he carries
in his head as the days go by. Winters come
and go in many forms but his coat
will always bark back against
the cold, until it too must be put down.
