by Joe Cottonwood

At a suburban garage sale
for nostalgia’s sake I buy bell-bottom jeans,
knees lovingly patched with paisley.
Peace, brother, the old guy says
as he pockets my single dollar.

Never in the mood, I never wear
but store them like an old photo,
mellow in my closet.
A quiet vibe, these threads.

Until my daughter
discovers, wears these jeans
as a hippie Halloween costume
to a high school dance and looks great.
Absolutely great.
Groovy! she shouts.

Now may her children find.
May peace endure
like pants.
Patch. Love. Dance.

Image by Chen from Pixabay