Boys secondhand pants

From a mother they came

to a mans son

Denim camouflage sheaths, for the two swords

of a boy

Legs that would carry him into battle with

lizards, spiders, girls, a fear of darkness and

even other boys.

Carefully stitched twice over by

likely

some other mother with weathered skin

and calloused fingers, in a noisy foreign factory

who smiled gently as she toiled, imagining her own boy

in the brand she couldn't afford to buy him.

Midway down, spacious spare pockets that would

inevitably

become airplane hangers, archaeological digs, boat slips, reptile internment facilities, holsters and

botanical gardens

and a cuff at the bottom

for lapping up the dust on the tops of mountains.

Who could ever know what is in store for

these cotton tools.