I’ve thought of wearing him like a hat
warm and puffy on my head
—or a scarf
flapping from my neck,
teasing the wheel spokes;
or maybe a pair of leather gloves
capping each fingertip with a fine seam
But he is my secret vest
arrow-proof,
snug,
keeping my back straight,
my stomach flat
He has filled my vest pockets
with money,
folded in triangles,
ready to play football
across the table.
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