After decades behind
a desk, my clothes
remain unchanged.
Others switched
to denim. I wore
dress slacks and buttoned
shirts. I am smaller
now. Shirts and slacks
billow, no longer pressed
flat and starched stiff.
I shrink and clothes
fade. One day I was
retired. I crawled out
from behind an old
desk and a pile
of clothes, and walked
out in ratty jeans
and T-shirts in which
I was invisible.
Richard Dinges, Jr. lives and works by a pond among trees and grassland, along with his wife, one dog, three cats, and seven chickens. The Journal, millers pond, Pulsar, Southern Poetry Review, and Poem most recently accepted his poems for their publications.