The Nap

It was a thrifted luxury,

a jacket that felt like a second skin.

Then the sky opened up at the bus stop

and let the wet world in.

I tried to brush the spots away

with the side of my thumb in the hall,

but I only matted the fibers down

until they wouldn't stand at all.

It’s ruined now, a map of the rain

permanently stained on the sleeve.

Some things aren't meant to be touched

by the weather we have to leave.