Wearing

The teeth are grinding when I pull.

The slider's stuck. I yank and feel

the small sound of something breaking,

of metal wearing thin and faking

it can still move.

The fabric's fraying at the seam,

a rip in lining, torn at the beam,

and the worn spot where I always grip

is giving up.

The material is soft there now,

almost translucent, and somehow

I can't bring myself to let it go.

I could buy new. There are new ones here,

jackets that work, that slide without fear,

without this grinding, without this rip.

But this one knows me.

Its pockets are where my hands go

when I'm cold or thinking.

The cuff has molded itself

to exactly where my wrist bends.

So I don't replace it.

I just don't zip it all the way anymore.

I wear it half-closed,

or I don't wear it at all.

But I'm not ready to let it go.