Plaster Slack

The hanger won't reach where the skin starts to crawl,

deep in the white, near the bend and the fall.

I tried to pull my denim up with a single hand,

failing at the basics, sinking in the sand.

The Sharpie names are starting to smudge and fade,

proof of a pity that I’ve already repaid.

I’m stuck in this shirt.

Please don't leave yet.