There's no shame in the stain my secretions leave
on my once-bright whites as the years accrete
in the sweat tinging yellow each armpit's crease
though I bleach, and I bleach and I bleach and bleach
Since the fabric is strong, I will wear it out.
Or at least, wear it in, and around the house
- it would be such a sin to discard these clothes
who have been such sturdy and staunch fellows!
Who are ready to serve years more, used hard!
They are proud, they are clean, though it's true they're scarred -
Who's to see all the stains left from passing years
by my sweat, blood, other stuff, snot and tears?
on my undershirts, socks, briefs and other drawers
- sure, I'll wear my nice mine, if I think I'll see yours
otherwise, who cares? As my sock-heels rust
from the boots I grind under them into dust,
I will put on and push on 'til cotton wears through -
for as long as they hold out,
I will hold on, too.