Someone who won’t bat an eye
at a used shirt or tie, who will
riffle through a rack
of dresses and shirts
then crowd with you
in the rickety dressing room
to try them all on.
And what of it, if those pants
sat down to someone else’s dinners,
or that soft dress impressed other
fresh eyes a few fine Saturday nights?
What fits. What’s good. Cotton
and wool, denim and silk.
Someone who lets it go
when you snore, or wake up
three times a night to pee.
Someone who sees your bent,
red toes or the crazy hairs
in your ears and still takes
you home. After twenty years
it’s all used after all—all
secondhand. It’s just what I was
looking for: perfect, a steal.