Little Blue Shorts
My poor shorts, the ones with the hole in them from catching on a nail whilst jumping off the roof of the house, are getting criticised for being too old. They’re a bit stretched, faded almost to grey, but they’re still good to me.
I saw a workman in blue shorts. He was wearing shoes and socks too. I thought, “He’s not so good—I’ve got socks on as well.”
The men in the navy talk to us like normal people, but they have badges and short blue shorts, and leather soled black shoes that don’t match anything.
What to do if I’m a vegetable on a life-support machine: turn it off, or leave me breathing forever? Or if I’m a quadriplegic and want to die, will you help me? Who will change my little blue shorts?
Belts and buttons, I’ve fallen for a pair of shorts that are as nice as a woman’s dress.
There’s always time for sun ups in the morning. I wonder what other deros think when they see me running around in shorts and T shirt on a chilly winter morning. Perhaps they berate themselves for their own weakness.
Never let anyone tell you that boxer shorts without any elastic “give” are good. They twist and tighten and generally make things uncomfortable for the potatoes.
Nominated for a place among the sports stars, you’ll never know just how boring they can be. Singled out in a blue singlet line up. I wonder what happened to those tiny blue footy shorts I used to have...