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Poetry: "Pants" I want a pair of rose-colored corduroy pantslike my father’s that I can wear day after day, the wale gone smooth as a girl’s cheek against each knee, the waist loose, gnawed in four places by rusting suspenders that I can’t work anymore by myself, while I ache and wait in my Lazyboy rocker, big-print book sprawled flat, spine down in my lap as I close the red, red eye of my face. |