Red, red is the color
of my true love’s fleece.
With long sleeves to warm his strong arms,
the fleece gets pulled over his graying hair
at the end of most every workday
and each weekend morning.
An almost decade-long love affair
with this soft apparel has comforted his tender heart.
Without hesitation, it is the first thing he packs on every getaway
and balks when I recruit it for washing duty.
I smile at his contentment with the ordinary
and familiar. Because
if his attachment to a fuzzy shirt doesn’t grow old,
I am assured he will not tire of me, when I do.