The Catch

The silver tab finally gave up the ghost

in the hallway rush for the morning train.

I’ve worn this denim through more than most,

a ten-year shield against the wind and rain.

Now there’s just a jagged, silver stump,

a toothless gap that refuses to bite.

I feel the cold start to gather and clump

where the copper teeth used to hold me tight.

I’m threading a paperclip through the eye,

a flimsy fix for a heavy-duty life.

It’s funny how fast the decades fly,

cutting through the hem like a kitchen knife.