the need for pockets

at twelve

i couldn't imagine

a life

without dungaree pockets.

where would

my keys go, my change,

my gum

and cherished lucky

rabbit's foot,

and cat's eye

marble.

where would i slide

my black comb

into,

my pen knife.

my book of matches,

and magnifying glass.

i couldn't leave.

deep pockets,

the house without them.