TROUSER WAR

I want telepathic and telekinetic trousers now,

I want trews that can think,

I want strides that don’t shrink

Away from the intellectual effort

Of obeying my unspoken commands,

And that climb up my legs smoothly and coolly.

Without any word from my mouth

Or tug from my hands

I want legwear that’s always there

When I want it

And never there when I don’t.

As a youth I never thought of trousers

In terms of on and off,

But age and arthritis have changed the nature

Of the leg cladding game

Getting dressed and undressed

Is now a ruthless fifteen round wrestling match,

As I curse and swear, and sometimes tear

At those obstinate tubes of cloth.

My feet get stuck inside them,

My knees go crick and crack

I clutch at the wall

In case I fall

Like a tortoise onto my back.

But tortoises don’t wear trousers

They have more sense than aged old apes

They go around nude,

As perhaps I should,

Or wear a skirt, a kilt or a cape.

Instead of fighting my trousers

In a daily attritional war

Which I can’t win and neither can they

Until we both exist no more

I’ll be cremated in my trousers

Together flesh, bone and cloth will burn

Until trousers and I can both rest in peace

In a tasteful funerary urn.