Self-Portrait at 36

This is a good bag I say out loud to myself,

alone. I’m cleaning out my coat pockets

which I try to do at least once a month

but don't always get around to. I don't know

what I do those months when I don't

clean out my pockets. Or where I'm losing my time

to whatever’s keeping me

from cleaning out my pockets. There are

six pockets in this coat. I use four of them

at most: the two side pockets

are for bags and rubber bands. The left

breast pocket is where I carry matches. The right

inside zipper pocket I rarely use,

and if so then only for things I don't need

or don’t mind forgetting, like business cards

of people I’ll never meet again. A clean-out day

like today is when I find business cards.

I trace my mind back to some business event

where I drank too much and didn’t leave

a good impression. I scan cards

and try to remember faces. I even made notes

on some of the cards. This one reads

‘woman with mole.’ This one, ‘guy who sells pickles

at market.’ The other two pockets

inside along the coat’s side flanks are diagonal

to one another in lengthwise cuts. I don't use

the inside pockets. When I was a kid

my coat had two pockets. I kept my hands

in them and waited for the bus in the cold. The bus

was always late. My hands

balled in tight fists as I waited. Once the bus

took its slow turn around the corner

toward the stop in front of my house,

I’d take one hand out of one pocket and wave

to everyone I knew.

*photo credit: https://unsplash.com/photos/sh...