paper clip zipper

holes born on the other side of fences are in this.
several tears from several friends soaked in and dried in the shoulders.
burns of errant ember dot the ball-pitted sleeves.
pockets that even a quarter can't cling to.
the scent of coffee, campfire, grease, and travel wrap softly; holding it all together.
winter, spring, summer, and fall have slept here.
everything I know, apart from laundry, has shared itself with my messy shirt.