In Another's Shoes

Once in a while I dress in tatters;

the pants that lost their blue
leaving skeleton threads of white-
but not from activity, I know,
the threads never broke.

The second-hand shirt,
too big or too small
with missing buttons
and shrunken collar.

The shoes, scratched and stained
from abrasive ice and salt,
the leather worn smooth
and the soles worn uneven.

Within a coffee shop I try to order
and they look over me and inquire
The days of store credit are over.
But I have what they desire.

The paper that is not quite paper
and little disks a drop spread out.