Here is a little light-hearted something I doodled some years ago. Occasionally I'll thumb back through a book or two to read poems I've forgotten I've written. I'm guessing a few of you can relate to this one.


I was the younger brother, for good or bad
My pre-worn clothes were solids and plaids
We were a meager family not living up-town
Which meant I got lots of hand-me-downs.


Cotton socks I wore had character and scent
Their elastic tops were tattered and spent
Stretched a little big and with holes I found
But that’s what you get with hand-me-downs.


Socks too long, I’d tuck under my toes
And slip on my shoes so’d no one knows
Shoes re-soled and shined I’d wear around
Good as new were those hand-me-downs.


Frayed shoelaces with a tug would break
Tied back together a little shorter they’d make
My high-water britches faded and worn-down
It didn’t matter much, they’re hand-me-downs.


Blue jeans I got had holes in seat and knees
Mom patched them so I couldn’t feel a breeze
Flannel shirts missing buttons made me frown
Some had elbow holes in the hand-me-downs.


Sweaters that seemed to be generations old
Were darned and fitted to keep out the cold
A webbed belt twice ‘round my waist wound
One just makes do with those hand-me-downs.


There is an old knit cap I kept all these years
On cold blustery days I tucked in my ears
The Red Ryder sweatshirt faded and brown
Was a favorite among all my hand-me-downs.


Second hand toggery was usually okay by me
Once were my big brother’s and hero you see
I wonder today about the youth around town
If all they had were just hand-me-downs.


~by Larry Troxel~