I

I celebrate my pants, and sing my pants,
And what I wear you shall wear,
For every thread belonging to me as good belongs to you.

II

I saw the best pants of my generation destroyed by madness, bleaching faded skinny,
dragging themselves through the crowded malls at noon looking for the perfect selfie,
man-bunned hipsters burning for the contemporary digital connection to the social dynamo in the machinery of online relevance

III

Let us go Pants, you and I,
With evening wash spread out against the sky
Like a ghost dancing upon the breeze;
Let us go, through certain half-full baskets,
The smelly caskets
Of unwashed trousers from one-week neglected hampers.

IV

Something there is that doesn't love my pants,
That sends the frayed-torn-cuffs under it,
And spills my muffin top in the sun;
And makes love handles even two can hold to love.

V

I have stolen
the pants
that were in
the dressing room

and which
you were probably
wearing
for a party

Forgive me
they were comfy
so soft
and so stylish


VI

Because I could not fit my Pants –
I kindly split the Seam –
The Problem is quite obvious –
I need some stronger Jeans.

VII

The patterns on your pants   
Could make a designer cry;   
But I hung on to your stance:   
Plaid boldly with tie-dye.

VIII

Call the maker of big pants,
The fabulous one, and bid him zip
In seamstress studs sumptuous sewing.

IX

What happens to lost pants?

      Do they stiffen up
      like paper as it dries?
      Or do they balloon up —
      and into the sky rise?

X

I bought some tremendous pants
and held them beside the cart
half off the hanger, with the hook
fast in the belt loop around the waist.
There was no fight.
No one had fought at all.
They hung a defeated weight,
overlooked and spurned.

all the little mundane things huh
you think you know them

well
you wanna know something?
every night i wash my face
with Neutrogena's pink grapefruit oil-free face wash

and every winter
i find a pair of Old Navy fleece pants to wear
the pattern doesn't even matter
it almost makes it better that this year, the pattern is
"pink with cartoon polar bears in toboggans"

and I love to wash my face every night
wearing fleece pants
wearing only fleece pants

and I know I've sounded a little sad this year
but maybe that's because I've spent all my time working
and haven't had enough time to appreciate my new fleece pants

and you've sounded a little sad this year
but maybe that's because you've spent so much time sleeping
but don't own a pair of fleece pants

and maybe we're sad about each other
because, predictably, I'd say we should get matching
"pink with cartoon polar bears in toboggans" fleece pants
And you'd politely laugh at me and say no thank you
And then you'd think about how I'm so capitalist
with my Old Navy and Neutrogena and constant need to work
And I'll think about how I must be too undereducated for you now

But then I'll think
I like not being cold in my fleece pants
and the pattern is so fun to me because it's something I'd never wear, right? But they're so loveable! I love them.
I like being made not hungry by the money I've earned.
And I like not having opinions that make these things seem bad
because these things are what I have and can share.
And maybe somebody else wants to wear
"pink with cartoon polar bears in toboggans" fleece pants
and only "pink with cartoon polar bears in toboggans" fleece pants
with me
happily
and we'll dance together while we wash each other's faces
and I'll be happy to not have acne

and maybe
I used to fantasize about that person being you
but that's okay because people move on
and I've had you roll your eyes at me enough times
and you've had me suggest fleece pants enough times