If my skin was made of shirt
I wonder if I’d iron it.
I wonder if I’d take it off
after a day of work
or just fall asleep in it
and spray extra deodorant
over the particularly sweaty bits
the next morning.
I know I wouldn’t fix
broken buttons or frayed seams
and just let gravy live on it.
If my skin was made of shirt
I hope it would find its way to someone
who needed it when I was dead.

© Carl Burkitt 2020