Ode to Blue Jeans

When I was but a wee lad

New jeans made me both happy and sad

Enchanted by the beauty of their briny blue; but just too stiff for comfort to ensure.

I must have been wearing them since memory began

For somehow I knew a few washings would them mend.

Although each laundering faded them a bit, their softness came closer and closer to apparel bliss.

Its sturdy fiber protected my shins from scrapes and scabs, subduing the agony of genuflecting on kneelers without pads.

As time wore on, my attachment to them grew and grew. Finally, the fabric got thinner than thin; I feared they'd disappear like the Cheshire Cat's grin.

But when strands of crisscrossed white fibers in the knees appeared, I prayed in vain their end was not near. Although my knees felt the brunt of denim's wear, I blamed them not and never despaired.

Knowing mom would confuse frailty with sin, I suspected they’d be banished to the recycle bin. I bid them farewell, auf wiedersehen; certain one day we’d comfort each other again. Eager to acknowledge they ascended to a better place; how can one but accept destiny, fate?

So now we find ourselves where the story began, with a new pair of jeans; Deja Vous all over again.