His Jacket

That jacket.

That ugly, green coat

Which he wears with pride every day.

He says he wears it for a reason,

For a "statement."

I hate that jacket.

It doesn't fit him,

With sleeves so long that he has to fold them over

And the hem ending just above his knees.

Lazy seams along the back and sleeves,

And twisted belt loops,

And odd shoulder snaps,

And a misshaped collar,

Will anger even the newest of sewists.

Gigantic pockets only serve as holdings

For whatever he decides to take from friends.

The color of it too,

Too dull to be boring, but bright enough to

Stick out like a sore thumb.

Stains stick out on it too.

So do smells.

I hate his jacket.

Embraces envelop me in the huge material.

Those seams become tempting to trace,

The belt loops and shoulder snaps and sleeves

Become fun to tug on.

Those pockets are too easy to take back from,

And leave a little sticker or piece of candy

In it to trade.

The stains of all the snacks shared,

And the smell of him that lingers

On my own coat.

The color of that jacket

Is all I can think of

When I hear the word

"Green."

Maybe I don't hate his jacket that much.

Maybe I don't hate him much either.