I’m belting out a verse on my belts.
A sizable collection. Like my waist
Which has shrunk, once again, down to size
I can buckle up now, cinching to a perfect fit.
So happy I’ve hung onto them
Hanging on a hoop in my closet
Deep and dark in the recesses
These wearable collectibles have stories to tell.
I’ve clung to these wrap around tales
The black velvet beauty, my prized cowhide,
the hippie tooled leather ones, a slinky sparkly number
and a broad bright orange casual cotton.
I will not be shedding memories with the pounds
This is one valuable vintage collection. Valuable to me that is.
Granted once again, the freedom to accessorize.
A poor attempt at blank verse, which is very, very hard to do. Poets like Mary Oliver make it look easy. But I’m breaking the rules, before I’ve learned the ropes. Based on Belts.