Stuck Halfway

The cold air bit, I grabbed the pull,

that familiar metal, worn and dull.

Up it went, a well-known track,

then snagged, refused to go back.

The teeth, old friends, refused to meet,

left open a strip, where cold could treat

my chest. I tugged, I cursed it low,

a tiny battle, slow and slow.

This jacket's seen a full ten years,

its fabric frayed, collecting tears

of time. The zipper, half undone,

a final stubborn, little run

against the end. It's done its time,

but still, I pull, against the grime.