Who Really Cares About My Holes?

Thoughts on my threadbare underwear

Photo by Andrey Zvyagintsev on Unsplash

There’s a hole in my knickers,
Dear Liza, a hole,
and bigger it grows every day.

There’s more hole than pant,
and I try, but I can’t
seem to throw those damn panties away.

It’s not that I’m hoarding;
it’s a case of affording!
To waste just a penny, I mustn’t.

And so then, I figure,
“Though the whole’s getting bigger,
at least there’s naught wrong with the gusset.”

No, it’s at the waistband
and across the wasteland
of my belly the pants are threadbare.

Should things keep up apace,
it will soon be the case
that my pants might as well not be there!

The hole is quite wide,
and you can see inside
to my milky white skin, luminescent.

They still cover my bits,
yet it gives me the shits,
and the fabric’s almost evansecent!