His Everyday Jacket

a poem about comfortable clothes

Does he see that its dirty,
and unfashionably bright,
made for snow, not the beach,
and seems to shrink as he grows?
Have washings worn its liner
familiar to his skin?
Has its warmth become to him
a comfort covering all within?

Is my itch to throw it out,
a wish to see him now branch out,
to declare that he's bigger
and ready for grown-up things?
And would such a decision
leave his foolishness behind
like outgrown clothes handed down
to the next one in the line?

He'll not do it himself.
His nature loves the old too much.
And unless some peer points out its weird,
he'll wait for me to help him out.
I recognize all are different--
my tween just asked me for a bikini.
But I don't blame him for daily reaching
for his blue jacket like I do these keys.

Who is brave enough to sacrifice Isaac?
Who sends their son in a basket downstream?
Who follows a voice coming out of a bush?
Who dares hide spies on top of their roof?
Who leads armies when that's only for men?
Who anoints a shepherd in a family of eight?
Who crowns a boy who is only age eight?
And who offers her womb to God's holy seed?

Only those who believe someone
will buy them a new jacket.

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