Distressed Jeans Poem by Donal Mahoney

He doesn't understand distressed jeans.
Designer jeans with rents and tears
look like the rags he grew up in

wearing other people's discards.
His mother got his jeans from a charity
and they tore easily when he wore them.

He had to wear those jeans to school
and other kids made fun of him.
Decades later now he remembers

school days and can't forget them.
Today he helps the poor with the
remnant from his small pension.

Yet he finds it strange the rich
pay to look poor and the poor
look that way for free.