Things I Am Still Deciding About

The pants are on the shelf above the dryer.

The button's broken — has been since the day

I bought them, caught it on a turnstile. Prior

to that they fit. They don't fit today.

I tried them on in March. Stood there. Knew

before I'd cleared my hip. Took them off.

Refolded them. Set them back. What do you

do with that. The city, the specific scoff

of a turnstile, the whole summer. I left.

The pants stayed in the move somehow.

The shelf above the dryer. Bereft

is not the word. I'm just — not now,

not yet. The broken button faces out.

I'll donate them.

                      Without a doubt.