New Pants

I told my mother I should need new pants
And she, after agreeing, decided to ask back
About what sort of colors I would need.
I took a moment to think and then described
What my new bottom wardrobe should look like.

I needed a midnight black pair of slacks,
Front-faced with loose pockets and think belt-loops.
Pleatless, plain, and classic black like old Hollywood
Or the fifties when style was assumed and uncultivated.
They would be my showcase, my burnt neon annonce.

I needed a stolid gray, perhaps with a small plaid.
A pair of slacks for foundation and security,
Confident in their sleek, understated power.
Well fitting, straight-legged, with a humbled flare.
A pair to read and think in; something intellectually stylish.

I needed a sensitive navy blue to walk in,
A looser fit for free flowing conversations,
A pant to make a serious point, but giggle through;
With hanging, large pockets and a tight waste,
The perfect collision of comfort and taste.

I needed a tan or a khaki, something safe.
A pair for the days when I'd fear it might rain.
Normal in every sense of the word, almost mundane,
Fitting nicely, not snug or loose, and looking respectable.
Something to showcase a fancy shirt or newly shined shoes.