Dariusz Thomasz Lebioda

JEANS

I long for the old tattered jeans I used to wear
rags bleached letters–if only I could save
it like some dying dog at a fence

I long for the old tattered jeans I used to play
football in–pocketless frayed trousers–
if only I could jump into it again and feel
as if I were a knight in new armor

I long for the old tattered jeans that got stuck
in the bike–no cuffs worn-away buttons–
if only I could retrieve its resistance
and previous color

I long for the old tattered jeans that saturated
my sweat and blood–loose strap loops and
stuck zipper–if only I could save it like
some dying dog at a fence

***

In the name of Jesus who didn’t care about
his wounds they cut their hands with
razor-blades they ripped the gashed
skin with their teeth

in the name of a Buddhist monk they saw
on tv spill petrol and burn himself they
put out the cigarettes on their palms

in the name of Jimi Hendrix they were
listening to in basements instead of
going to church as mother told
them to they talked about death

in the name of they didn’t know
in the name of who in the name
of those before them taking it
away from themselves
not giving it to anybody