Bell-bottom Jeans
At a suburban garage sale
on a wobbly table among lava lamps
I find bell-bottom jeans, one pair,
lovingly patched.
Peace, brother, the ancient man says
as he pockets my single dollar.
Never in that style mood,
I store them like an old photo,
mellow in my closet.
A quiet vibe, these threads.
Until my daughter
discovers, wears the jeans
as a hippie Halloween costume
to a high school dance and looks great.
Absolutely great.
Groovy! she shouts.
Now may her children find.
May peace endure
like pants.
Patch. Love. Dance.
……
First published in Monterey Poetry Review. Thank you Dr. Jennifer Lagier Fellguth, editor.
A big thank you to Katie Col — with love and dance — for creating the painting at my request for this poem.
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