Sustainable Abrasions

The tag said eco-friendly, a conscience

bought for seven bucks at the bins.

It smells like a crawlspace in 1998,

mildew and some ghost’s old sins.

The sleeves are stiff as a frozen dog.

I drive with my arms held wide

while the hemp weave bites my elbow skin,

gridding the red meat inside.

A better planet costs more than I make.

I’m just sanding myself down

in a recycled shroud that won’t ever break,

the most ethical itch in town.