Who knew that you, symbol of lazy days,
Would hurtle into the zeitgeist of lust?
Nostalgic schemas cannot fathom how
Those once sad trousers for the poor and drab
Had become such gold for ageing ladies?
Truth be told, I knew and played up your charms,
Pretending to be alarmed at glances...
Chances are that many a lazing lad
Had had those thoughts before their pants were saw
By lusting eyes, tracing the girth of thighs,
And cheeks, and whatever other she seeks
With those eyes that break a man down into
His most constituent parts: Flesh and bone,
Not souls, nor minds, nor hearts; which is a start
To heal that old divide inside the walls
That we erected and thought protected
That which we hold dear... just like:
Grey
Sweat
Pants.