The cuffs of his sleeves are frayed
at the wrists ever so subtly
you’d have to be staring to notice
The blue tips of his collar,
eroded by countless wash cycles
and pealed by perm press,
expose cotton ends
sheepishly peeking out from
their starched shelters
He’s very thankful that you’ll never see
the holes in his socks and the
worn bands of his underwear
because appearances mean everything
no matter how hard he works
Though his pants keep panting
and his heels need healing,
he still wants to win
