Between October and
into the very last
days of April
I am wearing you,
one of three zip-up
hoodies I own.
I favor you
over pull-over
hoodies, because,
when things heat up,
you can be
removed so quickly,
and put back on
when things cool
down, and then
you can be removed,
and put back on,
and removed,
and put back on,
but mostly, you’re on.
Photos of me from
this vast swath
of a calendar year
make it seem
like I am always
wearing the same
thing, always a zip-up
hoodie, and usually,
the same one,
my favorite of
the three, the one
sporting the logo
of my favorite
record store
where I spend
almost all of my
disposable income.
I don’t like the
word “disposable”
in this context,
because I don’t
feel like I’m
throwing my money
away. There may
be only two things,
for me, that offer
a fair exchange
of money for value:
music is one,
and the other–
you, my zip-up hoodies,
of which, I realize,
are all three
related to
the first thing
I feel is worth
my money: music.
A hoodie for a
favorite record store,
favorite musical artist,
and a favorite drum
and bugle corps.
Oh, you hoodies,
you keep me warm
while reminding
me, lest I forget,
and everyone else,
in case they are curious,
about what I love.
But I must
apologize for the
tattered ends of
the sleeves, on which
I often chew; it’s true,
a bad habit.
You forgive me,
I know, because
the attention
you receive as
three of my all time
favorite pieces
of clothing,
and because you know,
that until these
sleeves are in
complete tatters,
a life-long project,
you will always
be with me
when I am cold,
which is most
of the time
these days.
michael jarmer 